


A Doctor, A Wizard, and A Hobbit Named Bilbo Baggins

by Whovian101



Series: A Doctor, A Wizard, and A Hobbit [1]
Category: Doctor Who, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian101/pseuds/Whovian101
Summary: The Doctor wasn't an easy man to find, so when a strange wizard is standing outside his TARDIS, inviting him on an adventure, he can't help but want in.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments. I would love to hear what you think, any ideas you may have, or what I should do next!

The Doctor glanced at the scanner. He must have been mistaken. For a moment, he could have sworn he heard a knocking on the TARDIS door.

_ Knock, Knock, Knock. _

Indeed, to his surprise, on the scanner was an old man with a staff. He wore a tall pointed blue hat and a long gray cloak. Over his silver scarf, a long white beard hung down below his waist and immense black boots.

The Doctor made his way to the door, opening it up just as the man was about to knock again.   
“Hello, then.”   
“Hello.” The man said, “I would like to invite you on an adventure.”

The Doctor grinned, “I know you!”  
“You do?” The man looked slightly confused.  
“You’re the wizard, Gandalf! Oh, this is brilliant. I’m the Doctor, big fan!”

“Well,” Gandalf said, regaining his composure, and taking a step back,

“If you have an interest in embarking on this journey, meet me at the home of one Bilbo Baggins on Wednesday for tea.” He handed the Doctor a note with the location and time (as well as the date, which was helpful considering that the Doctor didn’t know exactly when he was).

And with that the wizard was gone, leaving the Doctor to punch in the coordinates for tea on Wednesday.


	2. The Home of Bilbo Baggins

The Doctor pushed the small bell on the door. There were small, almost silent, footsteps, and suddenly a small hobbit pushed the door open. He was about half the height of a human.

“I am so sorry to keep –” The small hobbit stared at the Doctor.

“Hello.”  
“Er – hi. Who are you, then?”

“I’m the Doctor.”  
“Oh, uh, what are you doing at my hobbit-hole?”  
“Didn’t Gandalf tell you I was coming?”  
“No…”  
“Oh.”  
“But please, come in.” Bilbo said politely, “I have some tea if you’d like some.”  
“Thank you very much.” The Doctor made his way in, led by the hobbit to a table where Bilbo served tea.

Suddenly, there was another ring, and Bilbo made his way to the door once again.  
“So you have –” Bilbo began again, but by his sudden stop, the Doctor was inclined to think that whoever was at the door was not Gandalf.

“Dwalin, at your service!” Said a low voice.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours!” Said Bilbo, “Did Gandalf invite you as well?”  
“Yes.” Dwalin pushed his way into the dining room. He was a dwarf, a bit taller than hobbits, but still much smaller than humans. He quirked an eyebrow at the Doctor.

“Another wizard?”  
“Of sorts.” Dwalin shrugged and began to eat a cake that Bilbo had left on the table.

Only a few minutes had passed when there came another, even louder, ring at the bell.

But this was not Gandalf either. It was a very old-looking dwarf with a white beard and scarlet hood.

“Balin, at your service!” He said, entering. He made his way into the dining room where he found Dwalin and the Doctor. “I see they have begun to arrive already.” He said, then he looked at the Doctor curiously.

“‘nother wizard.” Dwalin said, and Balin nodded.

“Have some tea.” Bilbo said, still sounding slightly flustered.

“A little beer would suit me better, if it is all the same with you, my good sir.” Said Balin. “But I don’t mind some cake – seed-cake, if you have any.”  
“Lots!” Bilbo answered hurriedly, scuttling off the the cellar and returning with a pint beer and two beautiful round seed-cakes.

Another loud ring from the door sounded.

“Gandalf for certain this time.” Bilbo said, hurrying down the passage.

But it was not. Two more dwarves entered, both will blue hoods, silver belts, and yellow beards; each of them carried a bag of tools and a spade.

“What can I do for you, my dwarves?” Bilbo had asked.

“Kili, at your service!” one had said,

“And Fili!” The other had added.

“At yours and your family’s!” replied Bilbo.

“Dwalin and Balin here already, I see.” said Kili, taking a look around the dining room. “Let us join the throng!”  
“Throng!” Bilbo stared at them, “I don’t like the sound of that. I really must sit down for a minute and collect myself and have a drink.”

Bilbo had only had a sip when another ring at the door came.  
“I’ll get it.” The Doctor said, excusing himself and making his way to the door, Bilbo shooting him a grateful glance.  
Five dwarves were standing at the door.

“Dori at your service.” The first one said.

“Nori, at your service.” Said the second.  
“Ori, at your service.”  
“Oin, at your service.”  
“Gloin, at your service.”

They marched in with their broad hands stuck in their gold and silver belts to join the others.

Already, it had almost become a throng. Some called for ale, and some for porter, and one for coffee, and all for cakes; so the Doctor helped the hobbit as they took trip after trip from the cellar.

A big jug of coffee had just ben set in the hearth, the seed-cakes were gone, and the dwarves were starting on a round of buttered scones, when there came a very loud knock. It sounded as if it were being banged on with a stick.  
Bilbo rushed along the passageway, clearly very angry. The Doctor followed. Bilbo pulled open the door with a jerk and in fell four more dwarves. Behind them was Gandalf, leaning on his staff and laughing.

He had made a quite a dent on the beautiful door. Wishing his sonic could do wood so he could fix it, the Doctor looked at Gandalf who said.  
“Carefully! Carefull! It is not like you, Bilbo, to keep friends waiting on the mat and then open the door like a pop-gun! Let me introduce Bifur, Bofur, Bomber, and especially Thorin!”  
“At your service!” said Bifur, Bofur, and Bomber, standing in a row. They made their way in.

Then there was Thorin. The Doctor bowed respectfully,

“Your highness.”  
Surprised at the act of respect, Thorin gave a curt nod and made his way into the hobbit-hole.

“Now we are all here!” said Gandalf, gesturing at the row of thirteen hoods and his own hat hanging on the pegs. “Quite a merry gathering! I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What’s that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think for me.”  
“And for me,” said Thorin.

“And raspberry jam and apple-tart,” said Bifur.

“And mince-pies and cheese,” said Bofur.

“And pork-pie and salad,” said Bomber.

“And more cakes – and ale – and coffee, if you don’t mind,” called the other dwarves through the door.  
“Put on a few eggs, there’s a good fellow!” Gandalf called after them as the Doctor and Bilbo made their way off to the pantries. “And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!”

“At least someone here has manners.” Bilbo said to the Doctor as they stacked up with bottles, dishes, knives, forks, glasses, plates, spoons, and things on big trays.

Gandalf sat at the head of the party with the thirteen dwarves all round: Bilbo sat on a stood at the fireside, the Doctor stood beside him. Bilbo had offered the stood many times, but the Doctor had refused.

The dwarves ate and ate and spoke and spoke, and time went on and on. At last, they made to push their chairs back and the Doctor and Bilbo collected the plates and glasses.

“I suppose you will all stay to supper?” Bilbo asked in a polite, unpressing tone.

“Of course!” said Thorin. “And after. We shan’t get through the business till late, and we must have some music first. Now to clear up!”

Thereupon the twelve dwarves – not Thorin, for he saw himself as too important and stayed to talk to Gandalf – jumped to their feet and made tall piles of things.

Off they went, not waiting for trays, balancing columns of plates, each with a bottle on top, with one hand, whilst the Doctor watched Bilbo run after them, almost squeaking with fright: “Please be careful!” and “Please, don’t trouble! I can manage.” But the dwarves only started to sing:

 

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_

_Blunt the knives and bend the forks!_

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates–_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!_

 

_Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor!_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!_

_Splash the wine on every door!_

 

_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole;_

_And when you’ve finished, if any are whole,_

_Send them down the hall to roll!_

 

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

_So, carefully! carefully with the plates!_

 

Of course, they did none of those things, and everything was cleaned and put away safe and quickly, but it certainly shook up the hobbit, who was turning round and round in the middle of the kitchen, trying to see what they were doing.

The dwarves then returned to find Thorin with his feet on the fender, smoking a pipe. He was blowing the most enormous smoke-rings, and wherever he told one to go, it went – up the chimney, behind the clock on the mantelpiece, under the table, but wherever it went, it was not quick enough to escape Gandalf who popped them, sending his own, smaller, smoke-rings from his short clay-pipe straight through each one of Thorin’s. It would then go green and come back to hover over the wizard’s head.

“Now for some music!” said Thorin. “Bring out the instruments!”  
Kili and Fili rushed for their bags and brought back little fiddles; Dori, Nori, and Ori brought out flutes from somewhere inside their coats; Bomber produced a drum from the hall; Bifur and Bofur went out too, and came back with clarinets and that they had left among the walking-sticks. Dwalin and Balin said: “Excuse me, I left mine in the porch!” “Just bring mine with you!” said Thorin.

They came back with viols as big as themselves, and with Thorin’s harp, wrapped in a green cloth. It was a beautiful golden harp, and when Thorin struck it the music began all at once, so sudden and sweet.

The dark came into the room from the little window that opened in the side of the Hill; the firelight flickered – it was April – and still the dwarves played on, whilst the shadow of Gandalf’s beard wagged against the wall.

The dark filled all the room and the fire died down. The shadows were lost and still they played on. Suddenly, first one and then another began to sing as they played; deep-throated singing of the dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes:

 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold._

 

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_

_While hammers fell like ringing bells_

_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_

_In hollow halls beneath the fells._

 

_For ancient king and elvish lord_

_There many a gleaming golden hoard_

_They shaped and wrought, and light they caught_

_To hide in gems on hilt of sword._

 

_On silver necklaces they strung_

_The flowering stars, on crowns they hung_

_The dragon-fire, in twisted wire_

_They meshed the light of moon and sun._

 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To claim our long-forgotten gold._

 

_Goblets they carved there for themselves_

_And Harps Gold; where no man delves_

_There lay they long, and many a song_

_Was sung unheard by men or elves._

 

_The pines were roaring on the height,_

_The winds were moaning in the night._

_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

 

_The bells were ringing in the dale_

_And men looked up with faces pale;_

_The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire_

_Laid lowtheir Towers and houses frail._

 

_The mountain smoked beneath the moon;_

_The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom._

_They fled their hall to dying fall_

_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon._

 

_Far over the misty mountains grim_

_To dungeons deep and caverns dim_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To win our harps and gold from him!_

 

The Doctor noticed Bilbo looking out the window at the dark sky above the trees. Bilbo stood up, trembling. Suddenly, the music stopped and all eyes faced Bilbo.

“Where are you going?” Demanded Thorin.

“What about a little light?” said Bilbo apologetically, though the Doctor was well aware that this was not the hobbit’s original plan.

“We like the dark.” All the dwarves said. “Dark for dark business! There are many hours before dawn.”  
“Of course!” said Bilbo, sitting down in a hurry, missing the stool and sat in the fender, knocking over the poker and shovel with a crash.

“Hush!” said Gandalf. “Let Thorin speak!”

Thorin began.

“Gandalf, dwarves, mysterious wizard, and Mr. Baggins! We are met together in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit – may the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale! –” He paused for breath and for a polite remark from Bilbo, but Bilbo was wagging his mouth, speechless, from the being called audacious and a fellow conspirator. Thorin went on: “We are met to discuss our plans, our ways, means, policy, and devices. We shall soon before the break of day start on our long journey, a journey from which some of us, or perhaps all of us (except for our friend and counsellor, the ingenious wizard Gandalf) may never return. It is a solemn moment. Our object is, I take it, well known to us all. To the estimable, Mr. Baggins, and perhaps to one or two of the younger dwarves (I think I should be right in naming Kili and Fili, for instance), the exact situation at the moment may require a little brief explanation.”  
This was Thorin’s style. If he had been allowed, he would probably have gone on like this until he was out of breath, without telling anyone there anything that was not already known, but Bilbo interrupted. At the words, _May never return,_ he let out a small shriek.

All the dwarves sprang up, knocking over the table. Gandalf struck a blue light on the end of his magic staff, and in its firework glare the poor little hobbit could be seen kneeling on the hearth-rug, shaking like a jelly that was melting. He then fell flat on the floor, and kept on calling out “struck by lightning, struck by lightning!” Over and over again; and that was all anyone could get out of him for a while.

So the Doctor took him and laid him out of the way on the drawing-room sofa with a drink at his elbow. The other dwarves went on with their dark business.

“Excitable little fellow,” said Gandalf, as they sat down again, “Gets funny fits, but he is one of the best, one of the best – as fierce as a dragon in a pinch.”  
“Humph!” Gloin said. “Will he do, do you think? It is all very well for Gandalf to talk about this hobbit being fierce, but one shriek like that in a moment of excitement would be enough to wake the dragon and all his relatives, and kill the lot of us. I think it sounded more like fright than excitement! In fact, if it had not been for the sign at the door, I should have been sure we had come to the wrong house. As soon as I clapped eyes on the little fellow bobbing and puffing at the mat, I had my doubts. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar!”  
The Doctor hadn’t noticed that Bilbo had gotten up. He pushed his way back into the room, the Doctor at his heels, “Pardon me,” He said, “if I have overheard words that you were saying. I don’t pretend to understand what you’re talking about, or your reference to burglars, but I think I am right in believing that you think I am no good. I will show you. I have no signs on my door – it was painted a week ago – and I am quite sure you have come to the wrong house. As soon as I saw your funny faces on the doorstep, I had my doubts. But treat it as the right one. Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of East and fight the wild Were-worms in the Last Desert. I had a great-great-great-grand-uncle once, Bullroarer Took, and –”  
“Yes, yes, but that was long ago,” said Gloin. “I was talking about _you_. And I assure you there is a mark on this door – the usual one in the trade, or used to be. _Burglar wants a good job, plenty of excitement and reasonable reward_ , that’s how it is usually read. You can said _Expert treasure-hunter_ instead of _Burglar_ if you like. Some of them do. It’s all the same to us. Gandalf told us that there was a man of the sort in these parts looking for a job at once, and that he had arranged for a meeting here this Wednesday tea-time.”

“Of course there is a mark,” said Gandalf. “I put it there myself. For very good reasons. You asked me to find two more for you expedition, and I chose Mr. Baggins and the Doctor, here.”

He scowled so angrily at Gloin that the dwarf huddled back into his chair; and when Bilbo tried to open his mouth to ask a question, he turned and frowned at him and stuck out his bushy eyebrows until Bilbo shut his mouth tight with a snap.

“That’s right,” said Gandalf. “Let’s have no more argument. I have chosen Mr. Baggins and that ought to be enough for all of you. If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, or will be when the time comes. There is a lot more in him than you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself. You may (possibly) all live to thank me yet. Now Bilbo, my boy, fetch the lamp and let’s have a little light on this!”  
On the table in the light of a big lamp with a red shade, he spread a piece of parchment, rather like a map.

“This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin,” he said in answer to the dwarves’ excited questions. “It is a plan of the Mountain.”

“I don’t see that this will help us much,” said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. “I remember the Mountain well enough and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath here the great dragons bred.”  
“There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain,” said Balin, “but it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there.”

“There is one point that you haven’t noticed,” said Gandalf, “and that is the secret entrance. You see that rune on the West side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls.”  
“It may have been secret once,” said Thorin, “but how do we know that it is secret any longer? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves.”

“He might know about it,” The Doctor said, “But he couldn’t have ever used it.”

“Why?”

“It’s much too small. The runes say, ‘Five feet high the door and three may walk abreast.’ Even as a baby, Smaug could have never fit, and certainly not now.”  
“It seems a great big hole to me,” Bilbo said, who clearly had no experience of dragons. The Doctor smiled, the hobbit was getting interested again. “How could such a large door be kept a secret from everybody outside, apart from the dragon?”

“In lots of ways,” said Gandalf. “But in what way this one has been hidden we don’t know without going to see. From what it says on the map, I should guess there is a closed door that has been made to look exactly like the side of the Mountain. That is the usual dwarves’ method – I think that is right, isn’t it?”  
“Quite right,” Thorin nodded in agreement.

“Also,” Gandalf continued, “I forgot to mention that with the map went a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!” He handed it to Thorin. It had a long barrel, intricate wards, and was made of silver. “Keep it safe.”

“Indeed I will,” said Thorin, fastening it upon a fine chain that hung around his neck and under his jacket. The Doctor raised his eyebrows, knowing that the key would be far safer in his own hands, but he said nothing. “Now,” Thorin said, “Things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea what to do. We thought of going East, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake. After that the trouble would begin –”

“A long time before that, if I know anything about the roads East,” interrupted Gandalf.

“We might go from there up along the River Running,” Went on Thorin, taking no notice, “and so to the ruins of Dale – the old town in the valley there, under the shadow of the Mountain. But none of us liked the idea of the Front Gate. The river runs right out of it through the great cliff at the South of the Mountain, and out of it comes the dragon too – far too often, unless he has changed his habits.”

“That is why I chose a mighty warrior.” Gandalf said, the dwarves turned to Bilbo doubtfully. “Not him,” Gandalf said, “The fabled Doctor.”  
“Is he not a wizard?”  
“I did say ‘of sorts.’” The Doctor said, then turned to Gandalf, “But I am no warrior.”  
“Do not make yourself modest.” Gandalf said, “You are mightiest of them all. Armies turn and run at the mere mention of your name.”  
The Doctor made a face and Gandalf continued.  
“But the swords in these parts are mostly blunt, and axes are used for trees, and shields as cradles or dish-covers; and dragons are comfortably far-off (and therefore legendary.) This is why I also settled on burglary – especially when I remembered the existence of a Side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, _the_ burglar, the chosen, and the selected burglar. So now let’s get on and make some plans.”

“Very well then,” said Thorin, “supposing the burglar-expert gives us some ideas or suggestions.” He turned with mock-politeness to Bilbo.

“First I should like to know a bit more about things,” Bilbo said shakily. “I mean about the gold and the dragon, and all that, and how it got there, and who it belongs to, and so on and further.”  
“Bless me!” said Thorin, “haven’t you got a map? And didn’t you hear our song? And haven’t we been talking about all this for hours?”  
“Long ago,” The Doctor said, sending an irritated glance towards Thorin, “In Thorin’s father, Thror’s time, their family was driven out of the far North and returned with all their wealth and tools to this Mountain on the map. It was discovered by their far ancestor, Thrain the Old, but now they had mined and tunneled and made huger halls and greater workshops, finding gold and jewels. They grew immensely rich and famous and Thorin’s grandfather became King under the Mountain again and was treated with great reverence by the mortal men who lived to the South and were gradually making their way up the Running River as far as the valley overshadowed by the Mountain. They built the town of Dale and Kings would send for dwarven smiths and even the least skillful were praised and rewarded. They would pay mostly in food, something dwarves never bothered try grow themselves. Even the lowest class of dwarf had an abundance of money so Thorin’s grandfather’s halls became full of armour, jewels, carvings, and cups.

“Despite all warnings, Thorin’s grandfather continued to accumulate this treasure, and Smaug, the dragon came. Dragons are naturally attracted to gold and take it wherever they can. They guard their plunder as long as they live, which is forever if not slain. There were many dragons in the North in those days, and the gold was getting scarce, and with the dwarves flying south or getting killed. The way dragons work, is that the strongest dragon gets the biggest hoard. At that time, Smaug was the strongest, and so one day he came and laid waste Dale. The dwarves fleed and Smaug took over the Mountain.”  
“I have often wondered about my father’s and my grandfather’s escape.” Thorin said. “I see now they must have had a private side-door which only they knew about. But apparently they made a map, and I should like to know how Gandalf got hold of it, and why it did not come down to me, the rightful heir.”  
“I did not ‘get hold of it,’ I was given it.” Gandalf said. “Your grandfather, Thror, was killed, you remember, in the mines of Moria by Azog the Goblin.”  
“Curse his name, yes.” Thorin said.  
“And Thrain, your father, went away on the twenty-first of April, a hundred years ago last Thursday, and has never been seen by you since –’  
“True, true,” Thorin said.

“Well, your father gave me this to give to you, and if I have chosen my own time and way for handing it over, you can hardly blame me, considering the trouble I had to find you. Your father could not remember his own name when he gave me the paper, and he never told me yours; so on the whole I think I ought to be praised and thanked! Here it is,” he said, handing the map to Thorin.  
“I don’t understand.” said Thorin.

“Your grandfather,” Gandalf said slowly and grimly, “gave the map to his son for safety before he went to the mines of Moria. Your fathent away to try his luck with the map after your grandfather was killed; and lots of adventures of a most unpleasant sort he had, but he never got near the Mountain. How he got there I don’t know, but I found him a prisoner in the dungeons of the Necromancer.”  
“Whatever were you doing there?” Thorin asked with a shudder. The other dwarves shivered as well.

“Never you mind. I was finding things out, as usual; and a nasty dangerous business it was. Even I, Gandalf, only just escaped. I tried to save your father, but it was too late. He was witless and wandering, and had forgotten almost everything except the map and the key.”

“We have long ago paid the goblins of Moria.” said Thorin. “We must give a thought to the Necromancer.”

“Don’t be absurd!” Gandalf said, “He is an enemy far beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together, if they could all be collected again from the four corners of the world. The one thing your father wished was for his son to read the map and use the key. The dragon and the Mountain are more than big enough tasks for you!”  
“That’s why you have given us a warrior, isn’t it?” Thorin demanded.  
“I’m not a warrior.”  
“Silence!”

The Doctor closed his eyes. This would be a harder adventure than he had expected.

“Well, I say that you ought to go East,” Bilbo said, “and have a look round. After all there is the side-door, and dragons must sleep sometimes, I suppose. If you sit on the doorstep long enough, I daresay you will think of something. And well, don’t you know, I think we have talked long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I will give you a good breakfast before you go.”  
“Before _we_ go, I suppose you mean.” Thorin said, “Aren’t you the burglar? And isn’t sitting on the doorstep your job, not to speak of getting inside the door? But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like six eggs with my ham, when starting on a journey: fried not poached, and mind you don’t break ‘em.”  
After all the other dwarves had ordered their breakfast, they all got up and the Doctor helped Bilbo find a room for them all, filling all the spare rooms and making beds on chairs and sofas, before he and the Doctor made their way into Bilbo’s bedroom. Bilbo had agreed to let the Doctor sleep on the chair in there, as the Doctor was the only one that the hobbit could actually tolerate.

As the Doctor lay awake, he could hear Thorin still humming to himself in the guest bedroom next to them:

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To the dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To find our long-forgotten gold._


	3. Roast Mutton

The Doctor made his way towards the dwarves. It was quite early in the morning. “I’ll wake Bilbo.” He said.

“No.” Gandalf said suddenly, “I will wake him.”  
“All right, then…”  
They made their way out of the hobbit-hole, the Doctor having made breakfast.

“Where’s Bilbo?” The Doctor inquired.

Gandalf gave him a mischievous smile.  
“Don’t worry about that.”  
They made their way out to Bywater, the dwarves on ponies and the Doctor on a horse.

“Haven’t you any luggage, Warrior?” Thorin asked.

“Call me the Doctor.” The Doctor said, trying to sound polite, “and I needn't any luggage.”

Just as they made to leave, Bilbo ran over to them. He was huffing and puffing from the sprint, there was a very small pony left for him.

“Up you get and off we go!” said Thorin.  
“I’m awfully sorry,” Bilbo said, “but I have come without my hat and I have left my pocket-handkerchief behind, and I haven’t got any money. I didn’t get your note until after 10:45 to be precise.”  
The Doctor raised his eyebrows, none of them had left a note. This was Gandalf’s work.

“Don’t be precise,” said Dwalin, “and don’t worry! You will have to manage without pocket-handkerchiefs, and a good many other things before you get to the journey’s end. As for a hat, I have got a spare hood and cloak in my luggage.”

The Doctor subtly handed Bilbo his own pocket-handkerchief. Bilbo smiled gratefully.

They all came to a start, making their way into the fine morning. Bilbo wore the dark-green dwarven cloak, though it was much too large for him.

They had not been riding for very long when up came Gandalf on a beautiful, pure white horse. He had brought a number of pocket-handkerchiefs, Bilbo’s pipe, adn tobacco.

They continued on their way, the dwarves telling stories and singing songs as they rode forwards.

“Have you any stories, mighty Doctor?” Bofur asked as they continued.

“Yes, surely a warrior so great must have tales to tell!”  
“Not a warrior…” The Doctor sighed, but began telling them stories of planets and civilizations. The dwarves were intrigued, interrupting to ask questions and, unlike so many humans, believing the tales he told. Gandalf looked amused, not believing a word (such a great wizard as he believes nothing that he has not seen. He thinks he knows all, which is why wizards tend to annoy the Doctor so much.) But Bilbo was the most immersed. He would close his eyes, imagining the strange people and landscapes of which the Doctor spoke. It was unclear whether or not he believed the Doctor’s words were true, but he seemed to love to imagine them.

It was nearly night when they stopped. The wind had broken upon the grey clouds and the wandering moon appeared above the hills.

“And where shall we get a dry patch to sleep on?”

“Where’s Gandalf?” Bilbo said suddenly.  
“He’s not been here for a while.” The Doctor said, he had noticed the absence. “He’s a wizard, they do that.”

They decided that they would have camp where they were and moved to a clump of trees, as it was dryer under them.

The night was windy and the dwarves could not seem to make a fire, despite claiming that they could make a fire almost anywhere out of almost anything, wind or no wind.

One of the ponies took fright at nothing and bolted, leaving the Doctor to chase and calm her down, returning to a glum and muttering group, Oin and Gloin still trying to light the fire and quarrelling about it.

Then Balin, who was look-out, suddenly said:

“There’s a light over there!”

There was a hill some way off with trees on it, rather thick in parts. Out of the dark mass of the trees, they could now see a light shining, a reddish comfortable-looking light, as it might be a fire or torches twinkling.

There was arguing amongst the dwarves, some saying no, others saying yes.

“These parts are none too well known and are too near the mountains.” Balin said, “Travellers seldom come this way now. The old maps are no use: things have changed for the worse and the road is unguarded. They have seldom even heard of the king around here, and the less inquisitive you are as you go along, the less trouble you are likely to find.”

The rain began to pour down worse than ever and that seemed to settle it.

“After all,” Thorin said, “We have a warrior with us.”

They set off, the Doctor giving a sigh of exasperation before attempting to correct them once again.

They came to a hill and were soon in the wood. Up the hill they went, the Doctor leading, as there was no proper path to be seen.

Suddenly, the red light shone out very bright through the tree-trunks not far ahead.

“Now it is the burglar’s turn,” Thorin ordered, looking at Bilbo. “You must go on and find out all about the light and what it is for, and if all is perfectly safe and canny, Now scuttle off, and come back quick if all is well, If not, come back if you can! If you can’t, hoot twice like a barn-owl and once like a screech-owl and we will do what we can.”

Bilbo was pushed away, and he promptly scuttled into the woods.

“If he gets into any trouble, you’re going to go get him.” Thorin said to the Doctor.

The Doctor was first to hear comotion, as he had better hearing than any of the dwarves. It sounded like fighting, loud voices were shouting.

“Hold his toes in the fire, till he talks!”

“I won’t have it, I caught him anyway!”  
“You’re a fat fool, William! As I’ve said afore this evening!”  
“And you’re a lout!”   
“And I won’t take that from you, Bill Huggins!”

There was a crash as a physical tussle began. The Doctor sprinted through the forest, the dwarves behind him, only to find three trolls fighting.   
“Stop.” The Doctor hissed, holding his arms back to signal to the dwarves not to burst in so Bilbo, who was scrambling on the ground, could hurry over to them, but the dwarves did not listen, pushing past him and into the light.

One of the troll let out an awful howl in seeing the dwarves. Trolls notoriously detested the very sight of dwarves. The other two stopped fighting immediately, shouted, “a sack, Tom, quick!”  
The Doctor had enough wits to dive out of the way, but the other dwarves were snatched up and thrown in sacks.  
“There’s more to come yet,” said one, “or I’m might mistook. Lots and none at all, it is,” he said. “No burrahobbits, but lots of these here dwarves. That’s about the shape of it!”  
“I reckon you’re right,” said another, “and we’d best get out of the light.”

With sacks in their hands, they waited in the shadows, but the Doctor made his way around them, stepping lightly and soundlessly through the night.

“Doctor.” Bilbo hissed from behind a tree, as the trolls had forgotten all about the small hobbit.  
“Bilbo, I’m going to distract the trolls, you untie the sacks.”  
“But –”  
“Good luck.”

The Doctor stepped into the light, but made sure to stay just out of reach of the trolls, who had not been expecting a human-sized being.  
“Man-flesh!”  
The Doctor began to run, weaving through the trees, the trolls on his tail, trying to lead them as far away from the entrapped dwarves as possible.  
Without warning, Gandalf was there, standing between the Doctor and the trolls and the light came up over the hill and there was a mighty twitter in the branches. The trolls froze, their skin turning grey and they became stone.

“Excellent!” said Gandalf as the two of them made their way back to the dwarves and Bilbo.

“Silly time to go practising pinching and pocket-picking.” Bomber said.

“You are wasting time now.” Gandalf said, “Don’t you realize that the trolls must have a cave or hole dug somewhere near to hide from the sun in? We must look in it!”  
“Brilliant.” The Doctor said as the dwarves and Bilbo spread out to search, “Kill them and then steal their belongings.”  
“Your sarcasm falls upon deaf ears.” Gandalf said, walking towards Thorin. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

“I hate wizards.”

They quickly found the marks of the trolls’ stony boots going away through the trees. They followed the tracks up the hill until, hidden by bushes, they came upon a large stone door leading to a cave. Despite their best attempts, the door wouldn’t budge. Gandalf tried various incantations, and the Doctor tried the sonic, but, just as it did for wood, it failed against the stone.

“Would this be any good?” Bilbo asked, holding up a large key, “I found it on the ground where the trolls had their fight.”  
“Oh Bilbo, you are brilliant.” The Doctor grinned, grabbing the key and sliding it smoothly into the keyhole. The stone door swung back with one big push and the group made their way inside.

There were bones on the floor and a rather foul smell in the air, but there was a good deal of food jumbled carelessly on shelves and on the ground among an untidy litter of plunder of all sorts; brass buttons to full pots of gold coins stood in the corner. There were many clothes hanging from the walls, much too small for the trolls. They most likely belonged to the victims, and among them were several Elven swords of various makes, shapes, and sizes. Two had beautiful scabbards and jeweled hilts. Gandalf and Thorin each took one of these, Gandalf offered the doctor a knife in a leather sheath, but the Doctor turned it away.

“Don’t like weapons.”  
“But you’re our warrior!” Thorin protested,

“He must be so powerful so as not to need a weapon!” Fili cried excitedly.  
“Still not a warrior…” The Doctor mumbled as Gandalf allowed Bilbo to take the knife. It would have made only a tiny pocket-knife for a troll, but it was as good as a short sword for a hobbit.

“These look like good blades,” said Gandalf, half drawing them and looking at them curiously. “They were not made by any troll, nor by any smith among men in these parts and days; but when we can read the runes on them, we shall know more about them.”  
“They’re Elven.” The Doctor said, “I can read Quenya.”  
“What does it say?” Thorin demanded, extending his sword so that the Doctor could see the runes. He took the sword, feeling the weight of the sword in his hands. He knew this sword.

“This is Orcrist, it’s a sword from Gondolin, it was forged in the First Age alongside its mate, Glamdring, which is your sword, Gandalf.” The Doctor said, handing it back, “It was wielded by King Turgon during the Goblin Wars and lost during the fall of Gondolin. It will glow blue when orcs or goblins are near.”  
“But warrior, surely there is not enough Elven text upon it to say such things.” Thorin scoffed.

“These swords are wrapped with legends of old and legends to come.” The Doctor said, “I know a legendary sword like this when I see one.”

“And it’s mate,” Thorin asked, gesturing to Gandalf’s sword.

“That is Glamdring.” The Doctor said, “It was forged with Orcrist, wielded by Nirnaeth Arnoediad, then went missing during the Fall of Gondolin.”

“And mine?” Bilbo asked, holding up the dagger.

“This too was made in Gondolin during the First Age, lost during the Fall of Gondolin, but it’s history is yet to be created.”  
“So how do you know when it was made?” Bilbo asked.

“Excellent question.” The Doctor grinned, “I just do.”  
“What?”  
“Come on, let’s get out of this horrible smell!” Fili said, the dwarves had stopped listening after the Doctor had finished with Gandalf’s sword.

The group carried out the pots of coins and such food that was untouched and looked fit to eat, as well as one barrel of ale which was still full, against the Doctor’s disapproving comments.

After that, they slept. The Doctor, who didn’t need to sleep, watched over them, keeping an eye out for anything that may come their way. Finally, in the afternoon, they awoke and brought up their ponies and carried away the pots of gold, burying them very secretly not far from the track by the river, putting a great many spells over them, just in case they ever had the chance to come back and recover them. Once they were finished, they mounted once more and made their way on the path towards the East.

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?” Thorin asked Gandalf as they rode along.

“To look ahead.” Gandalf said vaguely.

“And what brought you back?”

“Looking behind.”  
“Exactly!” said Thorin, “but could you be more plain?”  
“I went on to spy out our road. It will soon become dangerous and difficult. Also, I was anxious about replenishing our small stock of provisions. I had not gone very far, however, when I met a couple of friends of mine from Rivendell.”

“Where’s that?” Bilbo asked.

“Don’t interrupt!” Gandalf demanded.

“It’s an Elven town west of the Great Sea of Aman.”

“And where’s that…?”  
But Gandalf was already continuing. “I met two of Elrond’s people. They were hurrying along for fear of the trolls. It was they who told me that three of them had come down from the mountains and settled in the woods not far from the road. They had frightened everyone away from the district and they waylaid strangers. I immediately had the feeling that I was wanted back. Looking behind I saw a fire in the distance and made for it. So now you know. Please be more careful next time or we shall never get anywhere!”  
“Thank you.” Thorin said.


	4. A Short Rest

The dwarves did not sing or tell stories that day, despite the improvement of weather. They did not sing the next day, nor the next. The run-in with the trolls seemed to have put everyone on edge. They camped under the stars, their horses got the opportunity to eat more, as there was plenty of grass, but there was not much in their bags, even with what they had gotten from the trolls. One morning, the forded a river at a wide shallow place full of the noise of stones and foam. The far bank was steep and slippery. Once they reached the top, leading their ponies, they saw that the great mountains had marched down very near to them. Already they seemed only a day’s easy journey from the nearest. It was dark and drear, although there were patches of sunlight on its brown sides and behind its shoulders, the tips of snow-peaks gleamed.

“Is that  _ The  _ Mountain?” Bilbo asked, his voice solemn and his eyes round. 

“Of course not!” Balin scoffed, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “That is only the beginning of the Misty Mountains, and we have got to get through, or over, or under those somehow before we can come into the Wilderland beyond. And it is a deal of a way even from the other side of them to the Lonely Mountain in the East where Smaug lies on our treasure.”

“Oh.” Bilbo said, sounding suddenly exhausted.

Gandalf led the way, the Doctor choosing to trot next to Bilbo. “We must not miss the road or we shall be done for.” Gandalf said. “We need food, for one thing, _and_ rest in reasonable safety. Also, it is _very_ necessary to tackle the Misty Mountains by the proper path, or else you will get lost in them, and have to come back and start at the beginning again (if you ever get back at all).”   
“I wouldn’t be too concerned.” The Doctor said, “I’ve got a brilliant sense of direction.”

“Be that so, I would not like to rely upon that.” Gandalf said, You are to come to the very edge of the wild, as some of you may know. Hidden somewhere ahead of us is the fair valley of Rivendell where Elrond lives in the Last Homely House. I sent a message by my friends, and we are expected.”

“Oh, brilliant.” The Doctor grinned, “Love elves.”

It was not so easy as it sounds to find the Last Homely House west of the Mountains as it turned out. There seemed to be no trees, no valleys, no hills to break the ground in front of them, and only one vast slope going slowly up and up to meet the feet of the nearest mountain, a wide land the colour of heather and crumbling rock, with patches and slashes of grass-green and moss-green showing where water might be.

The morning passed, afternoon came, but in all the silent waste, there was no sign of any dwelling. The Doctor could tell that the dwarves were growing anxious, for they saw now that the house could be hidden almost anywhere between them and the mountains. 

They came upon unexpected valleys, narrow with steep sides that opened suddenly at their feet and they looked down to see trees below them and running water at the bottom. There were gullies that they could almost leap over, but very deep with waterfalls in them. There were dark ravines that once could neither jump over nor climb onto. 

There were bogs, some of them green pleasant places to look at with flowers growing bright and tall, but a pony that walked there with a pack on its back would never have come out again.

It was indeed a much wilder land from the ford to the mountains than had been expected. The only path was marked with white stones, some of which were small and others were half-covered with moss or heather. Altogether, it was a very slow business following the track, even with Gandalf, who clearly knew his way around.

The Doctor quickly took the lead, finding the stones much easier with his superior Time Lord vision. Gandalf, Bilbo, and the dwarves followed behind.

The sun set and moths fluttered about, the light becoming dim, for the moon had not risen. The ponies began stumbling over roots and stones. They came to the edge of a steep fall in the ground so suddenly that the Doctor’s horse nearly slipped down the slope.

“Here at last!” Gandalf said, taking the lead once more, the others gathering around him and looking over the edge. They saw a valley far below. They could hear the voice of hurrying water in a rocky bed at the bottom, the scent of trees in the air, and there was a light on the valley-side across the water.

They slithered and slipped in the dusk down the steep zig-zag path into the secret valley of Rivendell. The air grew warmer as they got lower, and the smell of the pine-trees embraced them. Their spirits rose as they descended down, the trees changing to beach and oak, and there was a comfortable feeling in the twilight. The last green had almost faded out of the grass when they came at length to an open glade not far above the banks of the stream.

The Doctor gazed up at the stars. They were burning bright and blue. Just then, there came a burst of song like laughter in the trees:

 

_ Oh! What are you doing, _

_ And where are you going? _

_ Your ponies need shoeing! _

_ The river is flowing! _

_ Oh! Tra-la-la-lally _

_ Here down in the valley! _

_ Oh! What are you seeking, _

_ And where are you making? _

_ Oh! Tril-lil-lil-lolly _

_ The valley is jolley, _

_ Ha! Ha! _

 

_ Oh! Where are you going _

_ With beards all a-wagging? _

_ No knowing, no knowing _

_ What brings Mister Baggins _

_ And Balin and Dwalin _

_ Down into the valley in June _

_ Ha! Ha! _

 

_ Oh! Will you be staying, _

_ Or will you be flying? _

_ Your ponies are straying! _

_ The daylight is dying! _

_ To fly would be folly, _

_ To stay would be jolly _

_ And listen and hark _

_ Till the end of the dark _

_ To our tune _

_ Ha! Ha! _

 

They laughed and sang in the trees and the beautiful, fair nonsense. The dwarves seemed concerned, dwarves and elves didn’t get along well, but Bilbo looked intrigued. 

“Well, well!” said a voice. “Just look! Bilbo the hobbit on a pony, my dear! Isn’t it delicious!”  
“Most astonishing wonderful!”

They then began another song just as ridiculous as the last one. At last, one tall young elf came out from the trees and bowed to Gandalf, Thorin, and the Doctor.”  
“Welcome to the valley!” He said.

“Thank you!” said Thorin a bit gruffly, but the Doctor and Gandalf had already dismounted.

“A little out of your way, Gandalf, is this not?” The elf asked, “That is, if you are making for the only path across the water and to the house beyond. We will set you right, but you had best get on foot, until you are over the bridge. Are you going to stay a bit and sing with us, or will you go straight on? Supper is preparing over there,” he said. “I can smell the wood-fires for the cooking.”  
The Doctor would have much enjoyed spending time with the elves, perhaps he would return to visit some time, but the dwarves were all for supper as soon as possible, just then, and would not stay. So on they went, leading their ponies until they were brought to a good path and so at last to the very brink of the river. It was flowing fast and noisily, as mountain-streams do of a summer evening, when sun has been all day on the snow far up above. There was only a narrow bridge of stone without a parapet, as narrow as a pony could well walk on, and over that they had to go slowly and carefully, one by one, each leading their pony by the bridle. The elves had brought bright lanterns to the shore and they sang a merry song as the party went across.  
“Don’t dip your beard in the foam, father!” They cried to Thorin, who was almost bent on his hands and knees. “It is long enough without watering it.”

“Mind Bilbo doesn’t eat all the cakes!” They called.

“Hush, hush! Good people! And good night!” Gandalf said, “Valleys have ears, and some elves have over merry tongues. Good night!”  
And so at last, they all came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide.

The master of the house was an elf-friend, Elrond. He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a dwarven king, and as kind as summer. 

They stayed for several days and all of them, the ponies as well, grew refreshed and strong in their days there. Their clothes were mended as well as their bruises, their tempers and their hopes. Their bags were filled with food and provisions light to carry but strong to bring them over the mountain passes. Their plans were improved with the best advice so that when the time came to midsummer eve, they would go on again with the early sun in the morning.

Elrond requested to see the map, and Gandalf handed it to him. He took it, gazing long at it, and shook his head. He did not altogether approve of dwarves and their love of gold (to be perfectly honest, neither did the Doctor, greed was never a good thing), but he hated dragons and their cruel wickedness, he grieved to remember the ruin of the town of Dale and its merry bells as well as the burning banks of the bright River Running. The moon was shining in a broad silver crescent. He held up the map and the white light shone through it.

“Moon-letters!” The Doctor recognized them immediately, “Why didn’t anyone show me this map?”  
“It says ‘five feet high the door and three may walk abreast.’” Elrond read.

“What are moon-letters?” Bilbo asked, his voice full of excitement.

“Moon-letters are rune-letters,” The Doctor said, “Except you can’t see them when you look straight at them. They can only be seen when the correct moon shines behind them, it’s brilliant, it is.”

“What do they say?” Gandalf and Thorin demanded together. 

“‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks.’” Elrond read, “‘and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key-hole.’”  
“Durin, Durin!” Thorin said, “He was the father of the fathers of the eldest race of Dwarves, the Longbeards, and my first ancestor: I am his heir.”  
“Then what is Durin’s Day?” Elrond asked.

“The first day of the dwarves’ New Year.” Thorin explained, “is as all should know the first day of the last moon of Autumn on the threshold of Winter. We still call it Durin’s Day when the last moon of Autumn and the un are in the sky together. But this will not help us much, I fear, for it passes our skill in these days to guess when such a time will come again.”

“That remains to be seen,” Gandalf said, “Is there any more writing?”  
“None to be seen by this moon.” Elrond handed the map back to Thorin and they then went down to the water to see the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer’s eve.

The next morning was a midsummer’s morning as fair and fresh as could be dreamed: blue sky and not a single cloud. The sun danced on the water and the Doctor, Gandalf, Bilbo, and the dwarves rode away amid songs of farewell and good speed, with their hearts ready for more adventure and with a knowledge of the road they must follow over the Misty Mountains to the land beyond.


	5. Over Hill and Under Hill

There were many paths that led up to the mountains and many passed over them, but most of the paths were cheats and deceptions that led either nowhere, or somewhere much worse. Not to mention, most, if not all, paths were infested with dangerous creatures and treacherous things. Having been greatly helped by the wise advice of Elrond, the Doctor, Bilbo, and the dwarves, using the memory of Gandalf, were able to take the right road to the right pass.

Long days after they had climbed out of the valley and left the Last Homely House miles behind, they were still ascending higher and higher. It was a difficult and dangerous path, a crooked, lonely, and long. Now they could look back over the lands they had left, laid out behind them far below. 

The Doctor noticed Bilbo shivering, it must have been getting cold as the wind came shrill among the rocks. Boulders too, at times, came galloping down the mountain-sides, let loose by mid-day sun upon the snow, and passed among them (which was rather luckey), or over their heads (which was significantly more alarming). The nights were comfortless and chill, and they did not dare to sing or talk too loud, for the echoes were uncanny and the silence seemed to dislike being broken with the exception of the noise of water, the wail of wind, and the crack of stone.

“The summer is getting on down below,” Bilbo commented one afternoon as the sun blazed in the sky, “and haymaking is going on, and picnics. They will be harvesting and blackberrying before we even begin to go down the other side at this rate.”  
The Doctor smiled, gazing down at the beautiful land below, despite the slow rate (he missed his TARDIS), the land was beautiful and it was very much worth the journey.

But the dwarves seemed to be thinking quite gloomy thoughts although when they had said goodbye to Elrond in the high hope of a midsummer morning, they had spoken joyfully of the passage of the mountains and of riding swiftly across the lands beyond. They seemed to have thought of coming to the secret door in the Lonely Mountain, perhaps that very last moon of Autumn, and that perhaps it would be Durin’s day, but Gandalf shook his head and said nothing.

The Doctor knew that something unexpected might happen, and he hardly dared to dread that they would pass without fearful adventure over the great tall mountains with lonely peaks and valleys where no king ruled. They did not. All was well, until one day when they met a severe thunderstorm. 

The Doctor had forgotten how much he loved thunderstorms. The storms came up from the East and West, clashing together, swirling and and pushing like a beautiful dance. The lightning splintered on the peaks, rocks shivering, and great crashes splitting the air, rocks tumbling into every cave and hollow. The darkness was filled with the overwhelming noise and sudden light.

Bilbo looked mesmerized, staring at the storm as they sheltered under a hanging rock for the night, high up in a narrow place with a dreadful fall into a dim valley at one side of them. The Doctor watched as across the valley the stone-giants had emerged from their caves and were hurling rocks at one another for a game, catching them and tossing them down into the darkness where they smashed among the trees far below, or splintered into little bits with a bang. 

Then came the wind and rain. The wind whipped the rain and the hail about in every direction so that an overhanging rock was no protection at all. The Doctor subtly placed himself in front of Bilbo so that the small hobbit was protected from the elements. But soon, even the shielded hobbit was drenched and their ponies and horses were standing with their heads down and their tails between their legs, many whinnying with fright. They could hear the giants’ shouts across the mountainsides.

“This won’t do at all!” Thorin shouted over the wind, “If we don’t get blown away or drowned, or struck by lighting, we shall be picked up by some giant and kicked sky-high for football.”

“They don’t use animals unless you make them angry, don’t worry.”  
“And how do you know this?” Balin asked.

“I made ‘em angry.”

“Perhaps we should find a better shelter…” Bilbo suggested, shivering.

Grunts of agreement echoed throughout the dwarves.

In the end, it was agreed that Fili and Kili would go and scout out a better shelter.   
Soon, they came crawling back, holding onto the rocks in the wind. 

“We have found a dry cave,” They announced, “not far around the corner, and the ponies and all could get inside.”

“Have you _thoroughly_ explored it?” Gandalf inquired, well aware that the caves up the mountains were seldom unoccupied.  
“Yes, yes!” They said, although everyone knew that they could not have been long about it, as they had returned much too quickly. “It isn’t all that big, and it does not go far back.”  
That, of course, is the dangerous part about caves: it is often difficult to tell how far back they go, where the passage behind it may lead to, or what is waiting for you inside. But for now, Fili and Kili’s news seemed good enough, so they all prepared to move. The wind was howling and the thunder continued to growl and they struggled getting themselves and their ponies along, but it was not very far to go before they came to a big rock standing out in the path. If you stepped behind, you found a low arch in the side of the mountain. There was just room to get the ponies through the squeeze when they had been unpacked and unsaddled. As they passed under the arch, it was good to hear the wind and rain outside instead of all around them. But Gandalf was taking no risks; he lit up his wand, and by its light, they explored the cave from end to end.

It seemed quite a fair size, but not too large and mysterious, much to the Doctor’s disappointment. It had a dry floor and at one end there was room for the ponies. Oin and Gloin wanted to light a fire at the door to dry their clothes, but Gandalf would not hear of it, so they spread out their wet things on the floor and got dry ones out of their bundles. The dwarves and Bilbo then made their blankets comfortable, got out their pipes and blew smoke rings, which Gandalf turned into different colours and set dancing up by the roof to amuse them. They talked and talked and gradually forgot about the storm and discussed what each would do with their share of the treasure once they got it and each dropped off to sleep one by one. Soon, it was only the Doctor and Bilbo who were still awake.

“So, where are you from, then?” Bilbo asked as they listened to the storm rage outside. 

“Gallifrey.”  
“Oh, where’s that then?”  
“In the constellation of Kasterborous, just left of Karn.”

“Constellation?” Bilbo inquired, “Like, as in  _ stars?”  _

“Yep.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened, “Are you from…?” He pointed to the sky outside.

“Yep.”

“So you’re not a wizard?”  
“No.”  
“Oh.” Bilbo gazed out at the storm.

They sat like that for a while, and Bilbo finally began dozing off, when the Doctor felt a large, unnatural weight in his eyelids. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t tired, he had slept relatively recently and had no reason to feel this sudden exhaustion. His eyes fluttered closed and he felt sleep overcome him.

This sleep was strange. It was unnatural. Synthetic. Rather than nightmares, the Doctor dreamed. He saw the crack in the wall at the back of the cave. It was growing bigger and bigger, opening wider and wider. Suddenly, the floor of the cave was giving way and he was slipping, falling down, down. 

The Doctor’s eyes flew open and he jumped up off the ground. He looked down to find Bilbo’s eyes now wide open as well, staring at the back of the cave. The Doctor turned only to see that the small crack at the back of the cave was already a wide passage.

Suddenly, Bilbo gave a loud yell as goblins jumped out. The shout woke Gandalf, who was up in moments, light filling the room, but just as the Doctor turned, there was a large elbow at his head and the world went dark.

The Doctor opened his eyes. He was being pulled along a line, his hands bound with chains. He was only moving because he had been linked together with the hobbit and the dwarves. He managed to find his feet underneath him and help the dwarves who had been dragging his deadweight.

“Doctor.” Bilbo whispered, trying not to alert the goblins, “Doctor!”  
“What happened?”

“The goblins knocked you out. I don’t know where we’re going.”  
“Oh, brilliant. I love this part.” The Doctor grinned as they turned a corner and saw, sat on a large flat stone, was a tremendous goblin with a large head and armed goblins were standing around him carrying axes and the bent swords that they use.  
Now, gobins were known to be crew, wicked, and overall bad-hearted. They don’t make the most beautiful of things, but they make clever ones. They can tunnel and mine better than dwarves when they take the trouble, but they are usually much less tidy and clean. Their hammers, axes, swords, daggers, pickaxes, tongs, and instruments of torture they make very well. They did not hate dwarves especially, but they tended to have a distaste for everyone who was not goblin, particularly things that were orderly and prosperous. In some parts, dwarves had even made alliances with them, but they had a special grudge against Thorin’s people because of the Goblin war. But goblins didn’t particularly care who they caught, as long as it was done smart and secret and the prisoners were unable to defend themselves.  
“Who are these miserable persons?” the Great Goblin demanded.

“Dwarves and these!” said one of the drivers, pulling at Bilbo’s and the Doctor’s chains so that they fell forwards onto their knees.   
“We found them sheltering in our Front Porch.”  
“What do you mean by it?” the Great Goblin turned to Thorin, “Up to no good, I’ll warrant! Spying on the private business of my people, I guess! Thieves, I shouldn’t be surprised to learn! Murders and friends of Elves, not unlikely! Come! What have you got to say?”  
“Thorin the dwarf at your service!” Thorin replied respectfully. “Of the things which you suspect and imagine we had no idea at all. We sheltered from a storm in what seemed a convenient cave and unused; nothing was further from our thoughts than inconveniencing goblins in any way whatever.”  
“Um!” The Great Goblin said, “So you say! May I ask what you were doing up in the mountains at all, and where you were coming from, and where you were going to? In fact, I should like to know all about you. Not that it will do you much good, Thorin Oakenshield, I know too much about your folk already; but let’s have the truth, or I will prepare something particularly uncomfortable for you!”  
“We were on a journey to visit our relatives, our nephews and nieces, and first, second, and third cousins, and the other descendants of our grandfathers, who live on the East side of these truly hospitable mountains,” said Thorin, not quite knowing what to say all at once in one moment.

“He is a liar, O truly tremendous one!” said one of the drivers. “Several of our people were struck by lightning in the cave when we invited these creatures to come below and they are dead as stones. Also, he has not explained this!” He held out Orcrist. 

“Murderers and elf-friends!” The Great Goblin shouted. “Slash them! Beat them! Bite them! Gnash them! Take them away to dark holes full of snakes and never let them see the light again!”  
“Yes, well, we can explain that.” The Doctor said, desperately trying to buy some time. 

“What are you?”  
“Oh, well, that’s a good question.”  
“I demand you tell me!”

“All right then, but what will I get out of it, then?”  
“You will get to live!”

“But you don’t know what I am. You don’t know what I can do. I am more than you could ever imagine. I am the perfect weapon.”

At the mention of a weapon, the Great Goblin’s eyes lit up.   
“However do you mean?”  
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  
“Tell me!”   
“I’ll make you a deal.”  
“I don’t do _deals.”_

“If you let them go,” The Doctor gestured to the dwarves and Bilbo, “Then I will tell you everything you desire to know.”

“Willingly?”  
“Without torture even.”  
The Great Goblin’s face twisted into a cruel smile.   
“Doctor, please tell me you’ve got a plan.” Bilbo whispered, but the Doctor didn’t respond.

Without warning, all the lights in the cavern went out and the great fire suddenly became a tower of blue glowing smoke that curled right up to the roof, scattering piercing white sparks all among the goblins.

The yells and shrieks of goblins echoed throughout the cave. The sparks were burning holes in the goblins and the smoke that now fell from the roof made the air too thick for even their eyes to see through. Soon, they were falling over one another and rolling in heaps on the floor, biting and kicking and fighting as if they had all gone mad.

Suddenly, a sword flashed in its own light and the Doctor saw it go right through the Great Goblin as he stood, dumbfounded, in the middle of his rage. He fell, dead, and the goblin soldiers fled before the sword shrieking into the darkness.  
The sword returned to its sheath.

“Follow me, quick!” Gandalf hissed, and the Doctor and Bilbo followed the wizard. They rushed down dark passageways, all the while the yells of the gobin-hall growing fainter behind them. A pale light was leading them on.

“Quicker, quicker! The torches will soon be relit!”

“Half a minute!” said Dori, who was at the back next to Balin. They had been stumbling without the balance of their bound hands.  
“Bilbo,” The Doctor said, getting on his knees so that he would be at the hobbit’s height, turn around, can you reach inside my pocket?”  
Bilbo turned so that his back was facing the Doctor, and his hands stumbled blindly, attempting to grasp the pocket. Once he had, he pulled out the Sonic Screwdriver.

“Right,” The Doctor turned so that he could grab the Sonic from Bilbo, aiming it up at his cuffs.  
The buzz echoed more than he would have liked, but with a click, the cuffs fell off.

“What is that?”  
“Sonic Screwdriver.” The Doctor said, proceeding to undo the cuffs of Bilbo as well as the dwarves around him.

Gandalf lit his wand up, took out a sword, not his own, but Orcrist. He handed it back to Thorin with a bow, 

“Are we all here? Let me see:” He looked around, “One – that’s Thorin – two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve; Where are Fili and Kili? Here they are! Thirteen, fourteen – and here’s Mr. Baggins: Fifteen! Well, well, it could be worse, and then again, it could be a good deal better. No ponies, no food, and no knowing quite where we are, and hordes of angry goblins just behind! On we go!”  
On they went, Gandalf was quite right: They began to hear goblin noises and horrible cries far behind in the passages they had come through. That sent them faster than ever, the Doctor carried Bilbo, who could not possibly go half as fast, for dwarves could roll along at a tremendous place, I can tell you, when they have to. 

Still, goblins go faster than dwarves, and these goblins knew the tunnels significantly better, for they had made the paths themselves, and were madly angry.

Soon, they could hear even the flap of the goblin feet, many, many feet which seemed only just around the last corner. The blink of red torches could be seen behind them in the tunnel they were following.

“Why, oh way did I ever leave my hobbit hole!” Bilbo whimpered.  
“For adventure, Bilbo.” The Doctor grinned, “What’s the point of life if you never live!”  
At this point, Gandalf fell behind, and Thorin with him. They turned a sharp corner. 

“About turn!” he shouted. “Draw your sword, Thorin! Doctor, be our warrior!”

“I’M NOT A WARRIOR!”

The goblins came scurrying around the corner in full cry when the Doctor suddenly pulled out the Sonic Screwdriver.  
The tunnels were filled with it’s high-pitched frequency. Whilst the dwarves, Gandalf, and Bilbo simply covered their ears, the goblins screamed, fleeing in all directions, running away from the source of the unbearable noise. Once they were gone, the Doctor finally returned the Sonic to his pocket.  
“What was _that?”_ Thorin demanded as they continued on through the tunnels.

“ _Sonic Screwdriver,_ or were you not paying attention?”  
“What is a _Sonic Screwdriver?”_

“It’s a Screwdriver, but it’s sonic.”

It was quite a long while before any of the goblins dared to turn the corner, and by that time, the dwarves, Bilbo, Gandalf, and the Doctor had long gone on again, a long, long, way on into the dark tunnels of the goblins’ realm. When the goblins discovered that, they put out their torches and they slipped on soft shoes, and they chose out their very quickest runners with the sharpest ears and eyes. These ran forward, as swift as weasels in the dark, and with hardly any more noise than bats.

They ran silently up behind, for Gandalf was letting his wand give out a faint light to help the dwarves as they went along.

Quite suddenly, the Doctor, now at the back again carrying Bilbo, was grabbed from behind in the dark. They fell, the two of them falling into the darkness. The Doctor felt his head hit a rock and remembered nothing more.


	6. Riddles in the Dark

When the Doctor opened his eyes, he wondered if he had, for despite his superior Time Lord vision, it was just as dark as it had been when they were shut. As he shifted his hand to stand, his hand met something that felt like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor, but the moment his hand touched it, a feeling of anger and control and desire overcame him. His hand jumped away as he gasped. There was a sudden whisper.  
“Hello?”  
“Bilbo?”  
“Doctor!”  
“Shhh!”  
“What?”

The Doctor, using some spare fabric, lifted the ring, careful not to make contact, and placed it in his pocket. He then made his way over to where Bilbo’s voice was coming from and found the small hobbit. Out of his pocket, he lifted a small torch.  
“What is that?”  
“It’s a torch.”  
“No, torches have fire…”  
“Not that kind of – er –” He reached for explanations that weren’t there, “It’s like a lanturn, but in a small container.”  
“Oh…So, like, space magic?”  
“No. It’s not magic. It’s science.”  
“Oh…”  
“Come on, then, nowhere to go but forward.” The Doctor said, and the two set off.

The tunnel went further and further down, it seemed to have no end.

Suddenly, without any warning, they stepped into water. It was icy cold and Bilbo pulled up sharp and short.

“Pool, lake, or underground river?” Bilbo asked.  
“No way to be sure but to go in.”  
“What?” Bilbo pulled the Doctor back as he took a step forward, “I can’t swim!”  
But before the Doctor could reply a hoarse whisper echoed through the darkness:  
“Bless us and splash us, my precioussss! I guess it’s a choice feast; at least a tasty morsel it’d make us, gollum!” When he said ‘gollum,’ he made a horrible swallowing noise in his throat.

Bilbo jumped, instinctively hiding behind the Doctor. The hiss was suddenly in the Doctor’s ears and pale eyes stuck out at him.

“Hello, then.”  
“What iss he, my preciouss?” Gollum whispered. The Doctor subtly pushed Bilbo behind a rock, so as to protect him.  
“I’m the Doctor.”

“What’s he got in his handses?”  
“A torch?”  
“Ooooh, magic,” said Gollum, “Praps ye sits here and chats with it a bitsy, my preciousss It likes riddles, praps it does, does it?”  
He seemed anxious to appear friendly, at any rate for the moment, and until he found out about the ‘magic’ and the hobbit, whether he was quite alone really, whether he was good to eat no doubt.

“Oh, brilliant!” The Doctor grinned, “I love riddles.” He thought for a moment,

 

_“What speaks without a mouth_

_and hears without ears._

_What has no body,_

_but comes alive with wind?”_

 

“Oooh, clever, clever…” Gollum thought momentarily, “An echo! Echo! Echo!” Gollum laughed.

 

_“What has roots that nobody sees,_

_Is taller than trees,_

_Up, up it goes,_

_And yet it never grows.”_

 

“Easy!” The Doctor grinned, “A mountain!”  
“Does it guess easy? It must have a competition with us, my preciouss! If precious asks, and it doesn’t answer, we eats it, my preciousss. If it asks us, and we doesn’t answer, then we does what it wants, eh? We shows it the way out, yes!”

“Brilliant.” The Doctor said, simply trying to avoid being eaten.

 

_“What has cities, but no houses?_

_What have mountains, but no trees?_

_What has water but no fish?”_

 

“Ooh, ooh,” Gollum jumped up and down, “A mapses, it means a mapses my presciouss!”

 

_“Voiceless it cries,_

_Wingless flutters,_

_Toothless bites,_

_Mouthless mutters.”_   


“Wind.” The Doctor answered immediately.

 

_“An eye in a blue face_

_Sawan eye in a green face._

_‘That eye is like to this eye’_

_Said the first eye,_

_‘But in lowplace_

_Not in highplace’”_

 

“Ss, ss, ss,” Gollum said, for he had been underground for much too long. “Sss, sss, my preciouss, sun on the daisies it means, it does.”

These ordinary above-ground sort of riddles seemed tiring for him, clearly reminding him of days when he had been less lonely, sneaky, and nasty, and that seemed to put him out of temper. When he said the next riddle, he sounded a bit more unpleasant.

 

_“It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,_

_Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt._

_It lies behind stars and under hills,_

_And empty holes it fills._

_It comes first and follows after,_

_Ends life, kills laughter.”_

 

“The dark.”

 

_“A box without hinges, key, or lid,_

_Yet golden treasure inside is hid.”_

 

It proved a nasty poser for Gollum. He hissed to himself, and still he did not answer, he whispered and spluttered.

“Ss, ss, ss…” Gollum searched his brain for memories. “Eggses! Eggses it is!”  


_“Alive without breath,_

_As cold as death;_

_Never thirsty, ever drinking,_

_All in mail never clinking.”_

 

“Fish!”

“Clever, clever…” Gollum hissed, “It is _too_ clever, my preciousss…”

 

_“This thing all things devours:_

_Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;_

_Gnaws iron, bites steel;_

_Grinds hard stones to meal;_

_Slays kings, ruins towns,_

_And beats high mountains down.”_   


Gollum thought for a long moment. “It is time, my preciouss…Time it is!”

 

_“I never was, am always to be._

_No one ever saw me, nor ever will._

_And yet I am the confidence of all,_

_To live and breathe on this terrestrial ball._

_What am I?”_

 

“The future.” The Doctor considered for a moment, a grin appeared on his face.

 

_“When you need me, you throw me away,_

_When you don’t need me, you bring me back._

_What am I?”_

 

Gollum began pacing, repeating the riddle over and over again. The Doctor was well aware that Gollum had been down here much too long to remember much about the outside world, nevermind know what an anchor was, for he had likely never sailed on a boat before.

“Anything?” The Doctor asked, Gollum paced faster,

“Gives us times, gives us time…”  
Ten minutes later, Gollum had nothing.  
“Time’s up Gollum. Show me the way out.”  
“Did we say so, precious? Show the nassty the way out, yes, yes. But what is the answer?”  
“A promise is a promise.”  
“Cross it is, impatient precious,” hissed Gollum. “But it must wait, yes it must. We can’t go up the tunnels so hasty. We must go and get some things first. Yes, things to help yes.”

Gollum disappeared.

“Do you think he’ll come back.”  
“Yes.”

After a few long moments, there was a screech. Gollum was cursing and wailing away in the gloom, not very far off by the sound of it.

“Where iss it? Where iss it?” He cried, “Losst it is, my precious, lost, lost! Curse us and crush us, my precious is lost!”  
“What’s the matter?” The Doctor called, “What have you lost?”  
“You mustn’t ask us,” shrieked Gollum. “Not its business, no, Gollum! It’s losst, Gollum, Gollum, Gollum.”  
Suddenly, Gollum came bounding towards the Doctor, faster than he had fled, “It must have stolen it!”

“RUN!” The Doctor grabbed Bilbo and ran. He fumbled in his pocket for his Sonic, but it must have fallen when he was captured by the goblins, for it wasn’t there, only –

The Doctor grabbed the ring and slid it on his finger. It burned to no end as he disappeared, hiding behind a large stone that managed to conceal Bilbo, but would have never him.

“Curse it! curse it! Curse it!” Gollum hissed, “Curse the Doctor! It’s gone!” The Doctor felt the ring’s power burning through his veins, he wanted so desperately to remove it. “My birthday-present! Curse it! How did we lose it, my precious? Yes, that’s it. When we came this way last, when we twisted that nassty young squeaker. That’s it. Curse it! It slipped from us, after all these ages and ages! It’s gone, Gollum!”

Suddenly, Gollum sat down and began to weep, a whistling and gurgling sound that was horrible to listen to, as all crying was.

“It’s no good going back there to search, no. We doesn’t remember all the places we’ve visited. And it’s no use. The Doctor has got it; the nassty noser has found it, we says. We guesses, precious, only guesses. We can’t know till we find the nassty creature and squeezes it. But it doesn’t know what the present can do, does it? It’ll just keep it in its pocketses. It doesn’t know, and it can’t go far. It’s lost itself, the nassty nosey thing. It doesn’t know the way out. It said so.” The Doctor felt his consciousness slipping, the energy he was using to suppress the power of this ring was getting to be too much. “It said so, yes;” Gollum continued, “But it’s tricksy. It doesn’t say what it means. It knows. It knows a way in, it must know a way out, yes. It’s off to the back-door. To the back-door, that’s it. The goblinses will catch it then. It can’t get out that way, precious. Ssss, sss, Gollum! Goblinses! Yes, but if it’s got the present, our precious present, then goblinses will get it, Gollum! They’ll find it, they’ll find out what it does. We shan’t ever be safe again, never, Gollum! One of the goblinses will put it on, and then no one will see him. He’ll be there but no seen. Not even our clever eyeses will notice him; and he’ll come creepsy and tricksy and catch us, Gollum, Gollum! Then let’s stop talking, precious, and make haste. If the Doctor has gone that way, we must go quick and see. Go! Not far now. Make haste!”

With a spring, Gollum got up and started shambling off at a great pace. The Doctor forced himself up, forcing his eyes open, no longer able to carry Bilbo, and snuck after him, making sure to keep Bilbo out of view.

Gollum continued to whisper. “Seven right, yes, six left, yes!” he whispered. “This is it. This is the way to the back-door, yes. Here’s the passage!”  
He peered in and shrank back. “But we doesn’t go in, precious, no we doesn’t. Goblinses down there. Lots of goblinses. We smells them. Ssss!”  
The Doctor was slowly sliding down the wall, unable to keep on his feet anymore. He grabbed a stone and threw it in the opposite direction.

Gollum’s ears perked up and he began to sprint.  
“I hears them! I hears them!” The Doctor removed the ring, gasping with relief as it silently hit the floor.

“Doctor?” Bilbo whispered,  
“‘M here.”  
“Doctor, what’s wrong with you.”  
“I’ll explain later.” The Doctor waved a hand, “Come on, help me up.”  
“What?” But Bilbo didn’t hesitate, on his feet, he was nearly half as tall as the Doctor, but he still managed to help him make his way to his feet. Bilbo, admittedly, wasn’t much help supporting the Doctor, but he used the wall, stumbling the entire way.”

The passage  that had been sloping down began to go up again, and after a while, it climbed steeply. But at last, the slope stopped, the passage turned a corner and dipped down again and there, at the bottom of a short incline, the Doctor and Bilbo could spot a glimpse of light.

Moving as fast as he trembling legs could carry him, the Doctor used the wall to push his way out, Bilbo by his side, clearly unsure on how to aid him.

They turned the last corner and came suddenly right into an open space, where the light, after all the time in the dark, seemed dazzlingly bright. The Doctor blinked, allowing for his pupils to contract and adjust to the light. Bilbo blinked beside him, and the two of them suddenly saw the goblins: goblins in full armor with drawn swords sitting just inside the door, watching it with wide eyes, and watching the passage that led to it. They were aroused, alert, ready for anything.

The goblins saw them sooner than they saw the goblins. A pang of fear filled the Doctor’s chest as he slipped the ring back on his finger and felt it once more, pushing Bilbo away. A goblin holding a small, metallic device. Charging forward with a controlled burst of adrenaline, the Doctor grabbed the Sonic straight from his fingers. He cried out in surprise and the Doctor pressed the Sonic Screwdriver.

The buzz echoed and the goblins screeched and howled once again. Scattering.

“Allons-y!” The Doctor shouted, but only managed about two steps until he felt himself hit the ground.


	7. Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire

The Doctor opened his eyes to a desperate-looking Bilbo standing over him.

“Doctor!”  
“Hello, then.”  
“Doctor, what’s happening?”  
The Doctor sat up, he looked around, “Oh, Look!” He jumped up, “We’re already at the other side of the Misty Mountains!”

“Doctor!”  
“Hmm?” The Doctor looked at Bilbo.

“Doctor, what happened back there. What was that ring?”

The Doctor pulled the ring wrapped in cloth from his pocket, handing it to Bilbo. “Here you take this.”  
“What? Are you sure?”  
“Yes, just keep it away from me.”  
“What is it?”  
“It’s a ring, and it’s very powerful.” The Doctor said slowly, “But I can’t have it – just keep it away.”

The Doctor’s desire for the ring was great, he felt a pull towards it, he wanted so desperately to take it back and return it to his finger where it belonged – no, where it didn’t belong. 

“Come on then, let’s get moving.”

They wandered on, the Doctor’s strength now mostly restored, out of the little high valley, over its edge, and down the slopes beyond.

“Do you think they’re back in the tunnels?”  
“No, do you hear that?” The Doctor whispered, and Bilbo strained his ears as they approached closer. There were voices, but they did not sound like goblins. They were on a stony path winding downwards with a rocky wall on the left hand; on the other side the ground sloped away and there were dells below the level of the path overhung with bushes and low trees. In one of these dells under the bushes, people were talking.

They crept still nearer and suddenly they saw, peering between two big boulders, a head with a red hood on: It was Balin doing look-out. 

“Balin!”  
Balin spun around, looking as if he were about to murder something, but his expression softened when he saw who it was.

“Doctor! Bilbo!” Balin greeted them, taking them over to where the rest of the dwarves were resting. Some were more happy to see them than others, but Gandalf was quite pleased.

The dwarves wanted to know about their adventure after they had lost them, so the Doctor and Bilbo told them everything apart from the ring – Not just now, he decided. They were particularly interested in the riddle competition, and shuddered most appreciatively at Bilbo’s description of Gollum.

Once they’d finished, Bilbo asked Gandalf about where he had gone and how he had returned to them. Gandalf never seemed to mind explaining his cleverness more than once, so he explained that both he and Elrond had been well aware of the presence of goblins in that part of the mountains. But their main gate used to come out on a different pass, once more easy to travel by so that they often caught people benighted bear their gates. Eventually, people had given up going that way, and the goblins must have opened their new entrance at the top of the pass that the dwarves had taken quite recently, because it had been found quite safe up until now.

“I must see if I can’t find a more or less decent giant to block it up again,” said Gandalf, “or soon there will be no getting over the mountains at all.”  
As soon as Gandalf had heard Bilbo’s yell, he had realized what had happened. In the flash which had killed the goblins grabbing them, he had nipped inside the crack, just as it snapped to. He followed after the drivers and prisoners right to the edge of the great hall and there he sat down and worked up the best magic he could in the shadows.

“A very ticklish business, it was,” he said, “Touch and go!”  
But of course, Gandalf had made a special study of bewitchment with fire and lights. 

“They made that gate ages ago,” Gandalf explained, “partly for a way of escape, if they needed one; partly as a way out into the lands beyond, where they still come in the dark and do great damage. They guard it always and no one has ever managed to block it up. They will guard it doubly after this.” He laughed.

“Come on, we should keep moving.” The Doctor decided, and Gandalf nodded in agreement,  
“Yes, they will be out after us in hundreds when night comes; and already shadows are lengthening. They can smell our footsteps for hours and hours after we have passed. We must be miles on before dusk. There will be a bit of moon, if it keeps fine, and that is lucky. Not that they mind the moon much, but it will give us a little light to steer by.”  
“I am dreadfully hungry,” Bilbo groaned, who became aware that he had not had a meal in three days.

“Can’t help it,” said Gandalf, “Unless you like to go back and ask the goblins nicely to let you have your pony back and your luggage.”  
“No thank you!” Bilbo said firmly.

“Very well then, we must just tighten our belts and trudge on – or we shall be made into supper, and that will be much worse than having none ourselves.”

As they went on, the Doctor tossed Bilbo a small packed sandwich.

“Since when did you find that?” The hobbit asked, immediately digging in, “For you could not have hidden it in your pockets.  
“They’re bigger than they look.”  
Bilbo shrugged and chose not to inquire, he was just happy for something to eat.

They went on. The rough path disappeared. The bushes and the long grasses between boulders, the patches of rabbit-cropped turf, the thyme, sage, and marjoram, and the yellow rock-roses all vanished. They found themselves at the top of a wide, steep slope of fallen stones, clearly the remains of a landslide. As they descended, rubbish and small pebbles rolled away from their feet; soon, larger bits of slip stone went clattering down, causing other pieces below them slithering and rolling; then, lumps of rock were disturbed and bounded off, crashing down with a dust and a noise. Before long, the whole slope above them and below them seemed on the move and they were sliding away, all gripping each other in fear of sliding apart.

It was the trees at the bottom that saved them. They slid into the edge of a climbing wood of pines that here stood right up the mountain slope from the deeper, darker forests of valleys below. Some, like the Doctor, caught hold of the trunks and swung themselves into lower branches. Some, like Bilbo, got behind a tree to shelter from the onslaught of rocks.

Soon, the danger was over, the slide had stopped, and the last faint crashes could be heard as the largest of the disturbed stones went bounding and spinning among the bracken and the pine-roots far below.

“Well! That has got us on a bit.” Gandalf said, “and even goblins tracking us will have a job to come down here quietly.”  
“I daresay,” grumbled Bombur; “but they won’t find it difficult to send stones bouncing down on our heads.” Bilbo and the dwarves nodded in agreement, as they were far from happy, rubbing their bruised and damaged legs and feet.

“Nonsense!” Gandalf said, “We are going to turn aside here out of the path of the slide. We must be quick! Look at the light!”

The sun had already long gone behind the mountains. Already the shadows were deepening around them, although far away through the trees and over the black tops of those growing lower down, they could still see the evening lights on the plains beyond. The dwarves and Bilbo limped along as quickly as they were able down the gentle slopes of a pine forest in a slanting path leading steadily southwards. At times, they were pushing  through a sea of bracken with tall fronds rising right above their heads, at times they were marching along, quietly as could be, over a floor of pine needles; all the while, the forest-gloom got heavier and heavier and the forest-silence deeper. There was no wind that evening to bring even a seasighting into the branches of the trees.

 

“Must we go any further?” Bilbo asked when it got darker-still. “My toes are all bruised and bent and my legs ache and my stomach is wagging like an empty sack.”  
“A bit further.” Gandalf said.

After what was much longer than a bit further, they came suddenly to an opening where no trees grew. The moon was up and shining into the clearing. Somehow it did not seem to be a nice place, despite the lack of anything wrong.

Suddenly, they heard a howl away down the hill, a long, shuddering howl. It was answered by another away to the right and a good deal nearer to them; then by another not far away to the left. 

“What shall we do?” Bilbo cried, “Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!”

“Up the trees! Up the trees!” The Doctor shouted and they ran to the trees at the edge of the glade, hunting for those that had branches fairly low or were slender enough to swarm up. The Doctor hurried around, lifting dwarves into those branches that they could not reach, and then followed after, climbing high as he thought the tree would support his weight. Fili and Kili were at the top of a tall larch. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, and Gloin were more comfortable in a huge pine with regular branches sticking out at intervals like spokes of a wheel. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Thorin were in another. Dwalin and Balin had swarmed up a tall slender fir with few branches and were trying to find a place to sit in the greenery of the topmost boughs.  
Gandalf and the Doctor had found the same large pine standing at the very edge of the glade and were both quite hidden in its boughs. The Doctor had pulled Bilbo up with him, as he could not reach the same branches that the dwarves could.

Within minutes, there was an entire pack of wolves, yelping all around the trees and leaping at the trunks, for even if they could not see the dwarves, Bilbo, Gandalf, or the Doctor, they could still smell them. But even the wild Wargs (for so the wolves over the Edge of the Wild were named) cannot climb trees. For a time, they were safe.

The glade in the ring of trees was evidently a meeting-place of the wolves. More and more kept coming in. They left guards at the foot of each tree whilst all the rest went and sat in a great circle in the glade. In the middle of the circle was a great grey wolf. He spoke to them of how the goblins often helped one another in wicked deeds. Goblins did not usually venture very far from their mountains unless they are driven out and looking for new homes, or are marching to war, which has not happened in a long while. But in those days they sometimes used to go on raids, especially to get food or slaves to work for them. Then they would often get the Wargs to help and shared the plunder with them. Sometimes, they rode on wolves like men do on horses. Now it seemed that a great goblin-raid had been planned for that very night. The Wargs had come to meet the goblins and the goblins were late. The reason, no doubt, was the death of the Great Goblin, and all the excitement caused by the dwarves, the hobbit, and the two wizards, for whom they were still hunting. 

In spite of the dangers of this far land, bold men had of late been making their way back into it from the South, cutting down trees and building themselves places to live in among the more pleasant woods in the valleys and along the river-shores. There were many of them and they were brave and well-armed, and even the Wargs dared not attack them if there were many together or in the bright day. But now they had planned with the goblins’ help to come by night upon some of the villages nearest the mountains. If their plan had been carried out, there would have been none left there the next day; all would have been killed except the few the goblins kept from the wolves and carried back as prisoners to their caves.

This was a dreadful speech to listen to, not only because of the brave woodmen and their wives and children, but also because of the danger that now threatened Gandalf, the Doctor, Bilbo, and the dwarves. The Wargs were angry and puzzled at finding them here in their very meeting-place. They thought they were friends of the woodmen and were here to spy on them and would take the news of their plans down into the valleys and then the goblins and wolves would have to fight a terrible battle instead of capturing prisoners and devouring people waked suddenly from their sleep. So the Wargs had no intention of going away and letting the people up the trees escape, at any rate not until the morning. And long before that, they said, the goblin soldiers would be coming down from the mountains, and goblins can climb trees, or cut them down.

The Doctor could see the fear in Gandalf’s eyes, for he could also understand their speak. Gandalf gathered the huge pinecones from the branches of the tree and threw it whizzing down among the circle of the wolves. It struck one on the back, and immediately his shaggy coat caught fire, and he was leaping to and fro, yelping horribly. Then came another and another, one in blue flames one in read, another in green. They burst on the ground in the middle of the circle and went off in coloured sparks and smoke. An especially large one hit the chief wolf on the nose and he lept ten feet in the air and rushed around and around the circle, biting and snapping even at the other wolves in his anger and fright. 

The dwarves and Bilbo shouted and cheered. The comotion of the wolves filled the forest. Wolves were afraid of fire at the best of times, but this was a most horrible and uncanny fire. If a spark got in their coats, it stuck and burned into them and unless they rolled over quickly, they were soon all in flames. 

Very soon, all around the glad, wolves were rolling over and over to put out the sparks on their backs whilst those that were burning were running and howling and setting others alight until their own friends chased them away and they fled off down the slopes, crying and yammering and looking for water.

But as the wolves fled into the forest, they had set it alight in several places. It was high summer and on the eastern side of the mountains there had been little rain for some time. Yellowing bracken, fallen branches, deep-piled pine-needles, and here and there dead trees, were soon all in flames. All around the clearing of the Wargs, fire was leaping. But the wolf-guards did not leave the trees. Maddened and angry they were leaping and howling around the trunks, and cursing the dwarves with their tongues hanging out and their eyes shining as red and fierce as the flames.

Then suddenly, goblins came running up yelling. They clearly had thought a battle with the woodmen was going on, but they soon learned what actually had happened. Some of them actually sat down and laughed, whilst others waved their spears and clashed the shafts against their shields. Goblins are not afraid of fire. 

Some got all the wolves together in a pack. Some stacked fern and brushwood around the tree-trunks. Others rushed around and stamped and beat until nearly all the flames were put out – but they did not put out the fire nearest to the trees where the dwarves and co. were. That fire they fed with leaves and dead branches and bracken. Soon they had a ring of smoke and flame all around the dwarves, Bilbo, the Doctor, and Gandalf, a ring which they kept from spreading outwards, but it closed slowly in until the running fire was licking the fuel piled under the trees. Smoke was in the Doctor’s eyes and he could feel the heat of the flames. Through the reek, he could see the goblins dancing around and around in a circle like people around a midsummer bonfire. Outside the ring of dancing warriors with spears and axes stood the wolves at a respectful distance, watching and waiting.

He could hear the goblins beginning a song:

 

_ Fifteen birds in five fir-trees,  _

_ Their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze! _

_ But funny little birds, they had no wings! _ _   
_ _ Oh what shall we do with the funny little things? _

_ Roast ‘em alive, or stew them in a pot; _

_ Fry them, boil them, and eat them hot? _

 

They then stopped and shouted out: “Fly away little birds! Fly away if you can! Come down little birds, or you will get roasted in your nests! Sing, sing little birds! Why don’t you sing?”

“Go away! Little boys!” Gandalf shouted back, “It isn’t bird-nesting time. Also, naughty little boys that play with fire get punished.” He clearly said that to make them angry and to show them that he wasn’t frightened, but the Doctor could tell that he was. But the goblins took no notice and continued singing:

 

_ Burn, burn tree and fern! _ _   
_ _ Shrivel and scorch! A fizzling torch _

_ To light the night for our delight, _

_ Ya hey! _

_ Bake and toast ‘em, fry and roast ‘em! _

_ Till beards blaze and eyes glaze; _

_ Till hair smells and skins crack, _

_ Fat melts and bones black _

_ In cinders lie _

_ Beneath the sky! _ _   
_ _ So dwarves shall die, _

_ And light the night for our delight, _

_ Ya hey! _

_ Ya-harri-hay! _

_ Ya hoy! _

 

And with that _ Ya hoy!  _ The flames were under the Doctor, Gandalf, and Bilbo’s tree. In a moment, it spread to the others. The bark caught fire, the lower branches cracked. The Doctor, Bilbo, and Gandalf climbed higher, Gandalf only stopping once he’d reached the top.

The sudden splendour flashed from his wand like lightning as he got ready to spring down from on high right among the spears of the goblins. That would probably have been the end of him, not only that, but he would have killed many of the goblins as he came hurtling down like a thunderbolt. But he never leaped.

Just at that moment, a large eagle swept down from above, seized him in his talons, and was gone.

There was a howl of anger and surprise from the goblins. Loud cried the eagle, much bigger than usual and most likely the Lord of the Eagles, to whom Gandalf had now spoken. Back swept the great birds that were with him and down they came like huge black shadows. The wolves yammered and gnashed their teeth; the goblins yelled and stamped with rage and flung their heavy spears in the air in vain. Over them swooped the eagles; the dark rush of their beating wings smote them to the floor or drove them far away; their talons tore at goblin faces. Other birds flew to the tree-tops and seized the dwarves and the Doctor, who kept a firm hold on Bilbo so as not to leave him behind.

Now far below, the goblins and the wolves were scattering far and wide in the woods. A few eagles were still circling and sweeping above the battleground. The flames around the trees sprang suddenly up above the highest branches. They went up in crackling fire. There was a sudden flurry of sparks and smoke.

Soon the light of the burning was faint below, a red twinkle on the black floor; and they were high up in the sky, rising all the time in strong sweeping circles. 

The flight ended and the eagles dropped them just before landing. Soon, another eagle flew up. “The Lord of the Eagles bids you to bring your prisoners to the Great Shelf,” And the eagle seized them and were off.

This time, they flew only a short way. Very soon, they were laid back down, Bilbo trembling with fear, on a wide shelf of rocks in the mountain-side. There was no path down on to it save by flying and no path down off it except by jumping over a precipice. There they found all the others sitting with their backs to the mountain walls. The Lord of the Eagles was also there, speaking to Gandalf.

Gandalf and the Lord of the Eagles seemed to be on good terms and know each other. 

The Lord of the Eagles would not take them anywhere near where men lived. “They would shoot at us with their great bows of yew,” he said, “For they would think we were after their sheep. And at other times they would be right. No! We are glad to cheat the goblins of their sport, and glad to repay our thanks to you, but we will not risk ourselves for dwarves in the southward plains.”

“Very will,” said Gandalf, “Take us where and as far as you will! We are already deeply obliged to you. But in the meantime, we are famished with hunger.”

“That can perhaps be mended,” the Lord of the Eagles said. 

Later on there was a bright fire on the shelf of rock and the figures of the dwarves around it cooking and making a fine roasting smell. The eagles had brought up dry boughs for fuel, and they had brought rabbits, hares, and small sheep. The dwarves and the Doctor managed the preparations, whilst Gandalf was lying down after doing his part in setting the fire going since Oin and Gloin had lost their tinder-boxes.

So ended the adventures of the Misty Mountains. Soon everyone's stomachs were feeling full and comfortable again and they could sleep contently. The Doctor watched as everyone dozed off, wondering what the morning was to bring.


	8. Lodgings

The next morning, in their departure, the dwarves, Bilbo, Gandalf, and the Doctor were able to mount themselves on the eagles backs rather than be clutched in their talons. The air rushed over the Doctor as they flew higher, soaring through the air. The sun was still close to the eastern edge of things. The morning was cool and the mists were in the valleys and hollows and twined here and there about the peaks and pinnacles of the hills.

After a good while, the eagles must have seen the point they were making for, for they began to go down, circling around in great spirals. They did this for a long while and as the earth got nearer and nearer, the Doctor could start making out features ike oaks, elms, wide grasslands, and a river running through it all. But cropping out of the ground, right in the path of the stream which looped itself around it, was a great rock, almost a hill of stone, like a last outpost of the distant mountains or a large piece cast miles into the plain by some giant among giants.

Quickly now to the top of this rock the eagles swooped one by one and set down their passengers.

“Farewell!” They cried, “Wherever you fare ‘till your eyries receive you at the journey’s end.” They said politely.

“May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.” The Doctor responded, for that was the polite reply.

And they parted ways. There was a flat space on the top of the hill of stone and a well worn path with many steps leading down to the river, across which a ford of huge flat stones led to the grassland beyond the stream. There was a little cave, a wholesome one with a pebbly floor, at the foot of the steps near the end of the stony ford. Here the party gathered and discussed what was to be done.

“I always meant to see you all safe (if possible) over the mountains,” Gandalf said, “and now, by good management _and_ good luck, I have done it. Indeed we are now a good deal further east than I ever meant to come with you, for after all, this is not my adventure. I may look in on it again before it is all over, but in the meanwhile I have some other pressing business to attend to.”

The dwarves groaned, their faces distressed. “I am not going to disappear this very instant,” Gandalf assured them, “I can give you a day or two more. Probably I can help you out of your present plight, and I need a little help myself. We have no food and no baggage and no ponies to ride, nor do you know where you are. Now, I can tell you that. You are still some miles north of the path which we should have been following if we had not left the mountain pass in a hurry. Very few people live in these parts, unless they have come here since I was last down this way, which is some years ago. But there is _somebody_ that I know of who lives not far away. That somebody made the steps on the great rock, the Carrock I believe he calls it. He does not come here often, certainly not in the daytime, and it is no good waiting for him. In fact it would be very dangerous. We must go and find him, and if all goes well at our meeting, I think I shall be off and wish you farewell.”  
The dwarves and Bilbo begged him not to leave them. They offered him dragon-gold, silver, and jewels, but he would not change his mind. “We shall see, we shall see!” He said. “And I think I have earned already some of your dragon-gold when you have got it.”

After that they stopped pleading. The sun was no strong and warm and they crossed the ford and began marching through the long green grass and down the lines of the wide-armed oaks and the tall elms.

“And why is it called the Carrock?” Bilbo asked Gandalf as they continued on.

“He called it Carrock because carrock is his word for it. He calls things like that carrocks, and this one is _the_ Carrock because it is the only one near his home and he knows it well.”  
“Who calls it? Who knows it?”

“The somebody I spoke of – a very great person. You must all be very polite when I introduce you. I shall introduce you slowly, two by two, I think; and you _must_ be careful not to annoy him, or heaven knows what will happen. He gets angry easily, so Doctor, please do be quiet.”  
“Oi! What did I do?”

The dwarves all gathered around when they heard Gandalf talking like this to Bilbo and the Doctor. “Is that the person you are taking us to now?” They asked. “Couldn’t you find someone more easy-tempered? Hadn’t you better explain it all a bit clearer?” and so on.

“Yes, it certainly is! No I could not! And I was explaining very carefully.” The wizard answered crossly. “If you must know more, his name s Beorn. He is very strong and he is a skin-changer. He changes his skin: sometimes he is a huge black bear, sometimes he is a great strong black-haired man with huge arms and a great beard. I cannot tell you much more, though that ought to be enough. Some say that he is a bear descended from the great and ancient bears of the mountains that lived there before the giants came. Others say that he is a man descended from the first men who lived before Smaug or the other dragons come into this part of the world, and before the goblins came into the hills out of the North. I cannot say, though, I fancy that least is the true tale. He is not the sort of person to ask questions of.”

“At any rate, he is under no enchantment but his own. He lives in an oak-wood and has a great wooden house; and as a man, he keeps cattle and horses which are nearly as marvellos as himself. They work for him and talk to him. He does not eat them, nor does he hunt or eat wild animals. He keeps hives and hives of great fierce bees and lives mostly on cream and honey. As a bear, he ranges far and wide. I once saw him sitting all alone on the top of the Carrock at night watching the moon sinking towards the Misty Mountains, and I heard him growl in the tongue of bears: ‘The day will come back when they will perish and I shall go back!’ That is why I believe he once came from the mountains himself.”

Up the slope and down dale the party plodded. It grew quite hot. Sometimes they rested under the trees. It was the middle of the afternoon before they noticed the great patches of flowers had begun to spring up, all the same kinds growing together as if they had been planted. Especially there was clover, waving patches of cockscomb clover and purple clover and wides stretches of short, white, sweet honey-smelling clover. There was a buzzing and whirring and a droning in the air. Bees were everywhere. They were bigger than hornets, bigger than the Doctor’s thumb, and the bands of yellow on their deep black bodies shone like fiery gold.

“We are getting near.” Gandalf said, “We are on the edge of his bee-pastures.”

After a while, they came to a belt of tall and very ancient oaks, beyond these to a high thorn-hedge through which you could see neither see nor scrabble.

“You had better wait here,” Gandalf said, sending a look to the Doctor that said, _‘You better stay where you are or I might set you on fire.’_ “and when I call or whistle, begin to come after me, you will see the way I go. But only in pairs, mind, about five minutes between each pair of you. Doctor, you will be in the back with Bomber.”

The Doctor stuck his tongue out and surrendered to the back with Bomber. “Come on Mr. Baggins! There is a gate somewhere around this way.”

The Doctor stood and waited, watching as two-by-two, the dwarves made their way along the hedge. Finally, it was his and Bomber’s turn. They soon came to a wooden gate, high and broad, beyond which they could see gardens and a cluster of low wooden buildings, somethatched and made of unshaped logs: barns, stables, sheds, and a long low wooden house. Inside on the southward side of the great hedge were rows and rows of hives with bell-shaped tops made of straw. The noise of the bees flying to and fro and crawling in and out filled the air.

They passed through the open gate and went down a wide track towards the house. They soon reached the courtyard, three walls of which were formed by the wooden house and its two long wings. In the middle there was lying a great oak-trunk with many lopped branches beside it. Standing near was a huge man with a thick black beard and hair, and great bear arms and legs with knotted muscles. He was clothed in a tunic of wool down to his knees and was leaning on a large wooden axe.

“Doctor!” The man called. “It is good to see you!”

“Beorn!” Recognition dawned on the Doctor.

“How long’s it been? Twenty years?” Well, for the Doctor, it had been more like two hundred, but all the same.  
“It must be.”

“I was surprised when the wizard explained your presence. Why were you not the first to great me?”

The Doctor and Bomber were led into a wide hall with a fireplace in the middle. Although it was summer, there was a wood-fire burning and smoke was rising to the blackened rafters in search of the way out through an opening in the roof.

“You know wizards, always trying to be in charge.”  
“What are you doing in these parts anyways?”  
“On a quest.”  
“Oh, you never could resist an adventure. You haven’t changed a bit.”

They passed through this dim hall, lit only by the fire and the hole above it and came through another smaller door into a sort of veranda propped on wooden posts made of single tree-trunks. It faced south and was still warm and filled with the light of the westering sun which slanted into it and fell golden on the garden full of flowers that came right up to the steps.

“Gandalf told you everything, then?”  
“Yes, he did. A very good tale it was. The best I have heard for a long while, ever since one of your tales, I expect.”

“I would be happy to tell you another, but first, I must ask if you are willing to assist us.”  
“Of course, of course, anything to help an old friend.”

“Brilliant.”

The light of the torches and the fire flickered about them as they had supper. ALl the time they ate, the Doctor told stories to Beorn of his adventures as of late. Beorn always did love a good story.

The dwarves listened and shook their beards, for they knew that it was all ridiculous and couldn’t possibly be true.

They sat long at the table, all the while, the dark night came on outside. They stayed there the night, Beorn, having very few friends of his own, more than welcoming, a shockingly unusual occurrence for anyone who was not in as good a standing as the Doctor was with him.

It was full morning when the dwarves and Bilbo awoke. Beorn had long disappeared, as he did at night, and the Doctor was expecting him to return soon.

They stayed another night, dwarves uneasy and doubtful, but the Doctor continued to assure them that Beorn would return. And anyway, they had no choice but to believe him.

The next morning, Beorn returned.  
“So here you are still!” He said, waking up the dwarves, “Not eaten up by Wargs or goblins or wicked bears yet I see. Come and have some breakfast.”

So they all went to breakfast with him. He was in the most splendidly good mood, laughing and talking, telling the Doctor of his recent adventures. He had traveled back to the burnt wolf glade and had caught a Warg and a goblin wandering in the woods. From these he had got the news: the goblin patrols were still hunting with Wargs for the dwarves, and they were fiercely angry because of the death of the Great Goblin.

“And what did you do with the goblin and the Warg?” The Doctor asked, dreading the answer.

“I –” Beorn hesitated.

“Where?”   
“Outside.” The Doctor made his way outside around the house. The goblin’s head was stuck outside the gate and a warg-sin was nailed to a tree just beyond.

“I gotta scare potential enemies away.”  
“Beorn.”  
“I know.”

This was not the first time the Doctor had spoken to him about killing.

But Beorn was a lovely host and provided ponies for each of the dwarves and Bilbo, and two horses, one for the Doctor and the other for Gandalf, for their journey to the forest. He packed them with food to last them for weeks with care, and packed so as to be as easy as possible to carry – nuts, flour, sealed jars of dried fruits, red earthenware pots of honey, twice baked cakes.

“But your way through Mirkwood is dark, dangerous, and difficult.” Beorn said. “Water is not easy to find there, nor food. The time is not yet come for nuts (though it may be past and gone indeed before you get to the other side), and nuts are about all that grows there fit for food; in there the wild things are dark and savage. I will provide you with skins for carrying water, and I will give you some bows and arrows. But I doubt very much whether anything you find in Mirkwood will be wholesome to eat or to drink. There is one stream there, I know, black and strong which crosses the path. That you should neither drink of nor bathe in; for I have heard that it carries enchantment and a great drowsiness and forgetfulness. And I don’t think you will shoot anything, wholesome or unwholesome, without straying from the path. That you MUST NOT do, for any reason. That is all the advice I can give you. Beyond the edge of the forest I cannot help you much; you must depend on your luck and your courage and the food I send with you. At the gate of the forest I must ask you to send back my horses and ponies. But I wish you all speed, and my house is open to you if you ever come back this way again.”

All that morning they were busy with preparations. Soon, after midday, they ate with Beorn for the last time. After the meal, they mounted the steeds he was lending them and wished him farewell, thanking his generosity.  They rode off through his gate at a good pace.

As soon as they left his high hedges at the east of his fenced lands they turned north and then bore to the north-west. By his advance they were no longer making for the main forest road to the south of his land. Had they followed the pass, their path would have led them down a stream from the mountains that joined the great river miles south of the Carrock. At that point there was a deep ford which they might have passed, if they had still had their ponies and beyond that a track led to the skirts of the wood and to the entrance of the old forest road. But Beorn had warned them that that way was now often used by the goblins, while the forest road itself, he had heard, was overgrown and disguised at the eastern end and led to impassable marshes where the paths had long been lost. Its eastern opening had also always been far to the south of the Lonely Mountain, and would have left them still with a long and difficult northward march when they got to the other side. North of the Carrock the edge of Mirkwood drew closer to the borders of the Great River, and though here the Mountains too drew nearer, Beorn advised them to take this way; for at the pace a few days’ ride due north of the Carrock was the gate of a little-known pathway through Mirkwood that led almost straight towards the Lonely Mountain.

“The goblins,” Beorn had said, “will not dare to cross the Great River for a hundred miles north of the Carrock nor to come  near my house – it is well protected at night – but I should ride fast; for if they make their raid soon they will cross the river to the south and scour all the edge of the forest so as to cut you off, and Wargs run swifter than ponies. Still, you are safer going north, even though you seem to be going back nearer to their strongholds, for that is what they will least expect, and they will have the longer ride to catch you. Be off now as quick as you may!”

That is why they were now riding in silence, galloping wherever the ground was grassy and smooth, with the mountains dark on their left, and in the distance the line of the river with its trees drawing even closer. The sun had only just turned west when they started, and until evening it lay golden on the land about them. It was difficult to think of pursuing goblins behind, and when they had put many miles between them and Beorn’s house they began to talk.

“So, how do you know Beorn?” Bilbo asked as they trotted along,

“He’s an old friend of mine.” The Doctor said, “I met him a long time ago. He likes my stories.”

But in the evening when the dusk came on the peaks of the mountains glowered against the sunset they made a camp and set a guard and the Doctor watched as they slept restlessly, tossing and turning.

Still the next morning dawned bright and fair again. There was an autumn mist, white upon the ground and the air was chill, but soon the sun rose red in the East and the mists vanished, and while the shadows were still long, they were off again. So they rode now for two more days, and all the while they saw nothing but grass, flowers, birds, scattered trees, and occasionally small herds of red deer browsing or sitting at noon in the shade. Sometimes, the Doctor saw the horns of the harts sticking up out of the long grass.

That third evening, they were so eager to press on, for Beorn had said that they should reach the forest gate early on the fourth day, that they rode still forward after dusk and into the night beneath the moon.

The next day, they started before dawn, although their night had been short. As soon as it was light, they could see the forest coming to meet them, or waiting for them like a black and frowning wall before them. The land began to slope up and up, and it seemed that the silence began to draw in upon them. Birds began to sing less, but there was no more deer, not even rabbits, that were seen. By the afternoon they had reached the eaves of Mirkwood and were resting almost beneath the great overhanging boughs of its outer trees. Their trunks were huge and gnarled, their branches twisted, their leaves were dark and long. Ivy grew on them and trailed along the ground.

“Well, here is Mirkwood!” said Gandalf. “The greatest of the forests of the Northern world. I hope you like the look of it. Now you must send back these excellent ponies you have borrowed.”  
The dwarves grumbled about this, but the Doctor said, “Beorn is not a fool. He is not someone to take lightly. You must honor your promise.”

“What about your horses, then?” Thorin said.

“I will be sending mine back,” The Doctor said, “I am under the impression that Gandalf will be riding it back.”  
Gandalf nodded in confirmation. “Yes, I shall take my leave at the edge of Mirkwood.”

There was a pause, and Gandalf said, “Now we had this all out before, when we landed on the Carrock,” he said. “It is no use arguing. I have, as I told you, some pressing business away south, and I am already late. We may meet again before all is over, and then again, of course we may not. That depends on your luck and on your courage and sense. So cheer up, this is your expedition after all. Think of the treasure at the end, and forget the forest and the dragon, at any rate, until tomorrow morning!”

When the next morning came, he still said the same. So now there was nothing left to do but to fill their water-skins at a clear spring the found close to the forest gate, and unpack the ponies. They distributed the packages as fairly as they could, but the Doctor noticed Bilbo’s load looked significantly heavier, and took it upon himself to remove some of the weight, for his size let him be able to carrier much heavier weights than the dwarves and Bilbo.

Then, at last, they said goodbye to their ponies and/or horses and turned their heads for home. Off they trotted happily, very glad to put their tails towards the shadow of Mirkwood. As they left, the Doctor watched for a large black-bear to leave the shadows of the trees and shamble off after them, but there was none to be seen. He felt honored, for Beorn clearly trusted him more than he had ever heard of him trusting someone before.

Now Gandalf said farewell. “Goodbye!” said Gandalf to Thorin. “And goodbye to you all, goodbye! Straight through the forest is your way now. Don’t stray off the track! If you do, it is a thousand to one you will never find it again and never get out of Mirkwood, and then I don’t suppose I, or anyone else will ever see you again.”

“Do we really have to go through?” Bilbo groaned.

“Yes, you do!” said the wizard, “if you want to get to the other side, you must either go through or give up your quest.”

“Is there no way around?”

“There is, if you care to go two hundred miles or so out of your way north, and twice that south. But you wouldn’t get a safe path even then. There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go. Before you could get around Mirkwood in the North you would be right among the slopes of the Grey Mountains, and they are simply stiff with goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs of the worst description. Before you could get around it in the South, you would get into the land of the Necromancer, and even you, Bilbo, won’t need me to tell you tales of that black sorcerer. I don’t advise you to go anywhere near the places overlooked by his dark tower! Stick to the forest track, keep your spirits up, hope for the best, and with a tremendous slice of luck you may come out one day and see the Long Marshes lying below you, and beyond them, high in the East, the Lonely Mountain where dear old Smaug lives, though I hope he is not expecting you.”

“Very comforting you are to be sure,” Growled Thorin. “Goodbye! If you won’t come with us, you had better get off without any more talk!”  
“Goodbye then, and really goodbye!” said Gandalf, and he turned his horse and road down into the West. But he could not resist the temptation to have the last word. Before he had passed quite out of hearing, he turned and put his hands to his mouth and called to them. “Goodbye! Be good, take care of yourselves – and DON’T LEAVE THE PATH!”

Then he galloped away and was soon lost to sight. “O goodbye and go away!” grunted the dwarves, all the more angry because they were already filled with dismay at losing him. Now they began the most dangerous part of all the journey. They each shouldered the heavy pack and water-skin which was their share and turned from the light that lay on the lands outside and plunged into the forest.

“I wouldn’t be too concerned.” The Doctor said, looking at the party of dwarves and the hobbit, “I’ve got a very good sense of direction.”


	9. Flies and Spiders

They walked in single file, Thorin demanded that he take the lead, so the Doctor stayed in the back, making sure no one would stray off or get left behind. The entrance to the path was like a sort of arch leading into a gloomy tunnel made by two great trees that leant together, too old to be strangled with ivy and hung with lichen to bear more than a few blackened leaves. The path itself was narrow and wound in and out among the trunks. Soon the light at the gate was like a little bright hole far behind, and the quiet was so deep that their feet seemed to thump along while all the trees leaned over them and listened.

Occasionally, a slender beam of sun that had the luck to slip in through some opening of leaves far above, as still more luck in not being caught in the tangled boughs and matted twigs beneath, stabbed down thin and bright before them, but this was seldom, and it soon ceased altogether.

There were black squirrels in the wood. The Doctor could catch glimpses of them whisking off the path and scuttling behind tree trunks. There were noises too, grunts scufflings, and hurryings in the undergrowth, and among the leaves that lay piled endlessly thick in places on the forest floor. But what made the noises, despite his superior vision, he could not see. He could usually he could gather and enhance available light with a great amount of control, but there was simply no light to enhance or control.

There were cobwebs, dark, dense cobwebs stretched from tree to tree or tangled in the lower branches on either side of them. There were none stretched across the path, but whether because some magic kept it clear, or for another reason, the Doctor did not know.

The nights were the worst. It became a most perfect dark. The Doctor tossed a torch to Thorin, but he refused to use ‘wizards’ magic.’ They slept closely together, the Doctor watching over them like a guardian angel. He noticed pairs of yellow, red, or green eyes would stare at them from a distance and slowly fade and disappear and slowly shine out again in another place, sometimes they would gleam down from the branches just above him. 

This went on for days and days and still the forest seemed just the same, the Doctor could tell that the dwarves and Bilbo were getting anxious. The food would not last forever, in fact, it was already beginning to get low. They were thirsty too, for they had none too much water, and in all the time they had seen neither spring nor stream. This was their state when one day they found their path blocked by running water. It flowed fast and strong but not very wide right across the way, and it was black, even through the gloom, the Doctor could tell the water was pitch black in colour. Thanks to Beorn’s advice, the Doctor was well-aware that they could not drink nor bathe in it.

“There is a boat against the far bank.” The Doctor said, squinting in the darkness.

“How far away do you think it is?” Thorin asked.

“Twelve yards.”

“Twelve yards!” Thorin said, “I should have thought it was thirty at least, but my eyes don’t see as well as they used to a hundred years ago. Still twelve yards is as good as a mile. We can’t jump it, and we daren’t try to wade or swim.”  
“We could throw a rope.” Bilbo suggested.

“What’s the good of that? The boat is sure to be tied up,” Thorin said, “Even if we could hook it, which I doubt.”

“I could do it.” The Doctor said, for his hand-eye coordination was far superior.

The Doctor took the rope and fastened one of the large iron hooks they had used for catching their packs to the straps about their shoulders. He balanced it in his hand for a moment, then flung it skillfully across the stream. It landed perfectly and the rope went taut. The Doctor pulled it slowly backwards, once it entered the current, it proved much more difficult than expected. But it eventually made it to the other side.

“Who’ll cross first?” Bilbo asked.

“Thorin,” the Doctor said, “Bilbo, Fili and Balin. That’s as many as the boat will hold at one time. After them will come Kili, Oin, Gloin, and Dori, then Ori, Nori, Bifur, and Bofur, then I’ll go last with Dwalin and Bombur.”

“There aren’t any oras.” Bilbo pointed out. “How are you going to push the boat back to the far bank?”  
The Doctor pulled out another length of rope and hook, casting it into the darkness and watched it stick right around a tree.

“One of you haul on the rope that is stuck in a tree on the other side. Someone else must keep ahold of the first hook and once you are safe on the other side I can draw the boat back.

In this way they were all soon on the bank safe across the enchanted stream. The Doctor and Dwalin had just climbed out of the boat and Bomber, still grumbling, was getting ready to follow, when something bad did happen. There was a flying sound of hooves on the path ahead. Out of the gloom suddenly came a shape of a flying deer. It charged into the dwarves and bowled them over, then gathered itself for a leap. But Bomber had fallen in. High the deer sprang and cleared the water with a mighty jump. But it did not reach the other side in safety.  Thorin, had bent his bow and fitten an arrow, shooting the deer with accuracy.

The Doctor, the only one to properly keep his wits, grabbed the rope and threw it towards him. His hand caught it and the Doctor pulled him to shore, but he was drenched from hair to boots and he was fasta sleep, one hand clutching the rope so tightly that the Doctor had to pry it from his grasp.

Suddenly, there was a dim blowing of horns in the wood and the sound of dogs baying far off. They all fell silent. Suddenly, on the path ahead appeared a white deer, a hind and fawns as snowy white as the hart had been dark. They glimmered in the shadows. Before Thorin or the Doctor could cry out, three of the dwarves had leapt to their feet and loosened off arrows from their bows. None found their mark. The deer turned and vanished in the trees as silently as they had come and in vain the dwarves shot their arrows after them.

“Stop! Stop!” The Doctor and Thorin hissed, but it was too late and the excited dwarves had wasted their last arrows, and now the bows that Beorn had given them were useless.

“Come on.” The Doctor said, “We ought to keep moving.” But he smiled. “Were getting close to the eastern edge.”

The Doctor carried Bombur, for he was the strongest, but it did get wearisome carrying Bombur, Bombur’s packs, as well as his own packs. But there wasn’t much left to eat or drink, so the packs grew lighter and lighter.

About four days from the enchanted stream, they came to a part where most of the trees were beeches. This was a nice change for there was no undergrowth and the shadow was not so deep. There was a greenish light about them and the Doctor was soon able to see more and more. There was a breath of air and a noise of wind, but it had a sad sound. A few leaves came rustling down to remind them that outside, autumn was coming on. Their feet ruffled among the dead leaves of countless other autumns that drifted over the banks of the path from the deep red carpets of the forest.

Bombur still slept, and despite countless scans with the Sonic, the Doctor couldn’t seem to identify a cure. At times they heard disquieting laughter. Sometimes there as singing in the distances too. The singing was beautiful, but it sounded eerie, wood elves, the Doctor identified.

“Is there no end to this accursed forest?” asked Thorin. “Somebody must climb a tree and see if he can get his head above the roof and have a look around. The only way is to choose the tallest tree that overhangs the path.”

Bilbo nodded, identifying his role, for if a climber was to be of any use, they must get their head above the topmost leaves and so they must be small and light enough for the highest and slenderest branches to bear him. The Doctor hoisted him up, and he went the best he could, pushing to the top.

“I couldn’t see an end.” Bilbo admitted as he climbed down from the tree. 

“The forest goes on forever and ever and ever in all directions! Whatever shall we do? And what is the use of sending a hobbit!” The dwarves cried out. The Doctor rolled his eyes. They would get there soon enough.

 

The night they ate the very last of their scraps and crumbs of food. The next morning when they woke, they found that it had begun raining. The Doctor, having nothing better to do, began placing bowls and water skins out, letting the rain water fall into it.

The best news came unexpectedly from Bombur. He woke up suddenly and sat up, scratching his head. He could not make out where he was at all, nor why he felt so hungry, for he had forgotten everything that happened since they started their journey in that May morning long ago. The last thing that he remembered was tea at Bilbo’s house. The dwarves, Bilbo, and the Doctor had a difficult time getting him to believe what had happened since.

When he heard that there was nothing to eat, he sat down and wept, for he felt very weak and wobbly in his legs. “Why ever did I wake up?” He cried. “I was having such beautiful dreams. I dreamed I was walking in a forest rather like this one, only lit with torches on the trees and lamps swinging from the branches and great fires burning on the ground; and there was a great feast going on, going on forever. A woodland king was there with a crown of leaves and there was a merry singing, and I could not count or describe the things there were to eat and drink.”

There was nothing now to be done but to hoist their empty sacks and packs and trudge along the track. Bombur kept on wailing that his legs would not carry him and that he wanted to lie down and sleep, so the Doctor ended up continuing to carry the dwarf’s weight.

Without warning, Balin, who was a little way ahead, called out, “What was that? I thought I saw a twinkle of light in the forest.”

The Doctor looked, and a long way off, he saw a red twinkle in the dark, and then another, and another sprang out beside it. Even Bombur got up, and they hurried along. The light was in front of them and to the left of the path, and when at last they had drawn level with it, it seemed plain that torches and fires were burning under the trees, but a good way off their track. 

“It looks as if my dreams were coming true,” gasped Bombur from behind. He wanted to rush straight off into the woods after the lights, but the others remembered only too well the warnings of Gandalf and Beorn.

“A feast would be no good if we never got back alive from it.” Thorin pointed out.  
“But without a feast we shan’t remain alive much longer anyway,” said Bombur, and a few others nodded.

“No.” The Doctor said firmly, “We have to keep going. We’re getting close and we can’t stray off the path.”

“You keep saying that and yet we cannot seem to find the edge of this wood.”

“Because we  _ are  _ getting close. The deer only stray so far into the forest. We have to keep moving or we shall starve.”

“I’m going.” Thorin said, “And all who wish to may join me.”  
Thorin plunged into the forest, followed by the other dwarves, Bilbo following reluctantly behind.

“Why does no one ever listen to me.” The Doctor sighed, and followed behind them.

After a good deal of creeping and crawling, they peered around the trunks and looked into a clearing where some trees had been felled and the ground levelled. There were many people there, elvish-looking folk, all dressed in green and brown and sitting on sawn rings of the felled trees in a great circle. There was a fire in their midst and there were torches fastened to some of the trees round about, and they were all eating and drinking and laughing merrily.

Before the Doctor could stop any of them, the dwarves all got up and scrambled forwards into the ring with the clear intention of begging for food. No sooner had the first stepped into the clearing than all the lights went out as if by magic. Somebody kicked the fire and it went up in rockets of glittering sparks and vanished. They were lost in a completely lightless dark and they could not even find another, not for a long time at any rate.

After blundering frantically in the gloom, falling over logs, bumping crash into trees, and shouting and calling until they must have walked everything in the forest for miles, at last the dwarves managed to gather themselves in a bundle and count themselves by touch. By the time they had, of course, they had quite forgotten in what direction the path lay, and they were all hopelessly lost, at least until morning.

“Now do you feel like listening to me?” The Doctor hissed at Thorin, who only grunted in response.

There was nothing left to do but settle down for the night where they were and did not even dare to search on the ground for scraps of food for fear of becoming separated again. But they had not been lying long, when the Doctor, who was keeping watch, saw something.

“The lights are coming out again over there, and there are even more than before.” He whispered to Thorin.

All the dwarves jumped, staring at the lights. And they heard the voices and the laughter quite plainly. They made they way towards them in a single line, all making sure to keep a firm hold on each other. 

When they got near, the Doctor whispered for them to stay, for he would approach, but Thorin insisted it was to be him, for he was widely respected.

This feast was even greater and more magnificent than before, and at the head of a long line of feasters, sat a woodland king with a crown of leaves upon his golden hair. The wood elves were passing bowls from hand to hand and across the fires, and some were harping and many were singing. Their gleaming hair was twined with flowers, green and white gems glinted on their collars and belts, and their faces and songs were filled with mirth. The songs were loud, clear, and fair and out stepped Thorin into their midst.

“Thorin, at your service –”

But before he could say anything more, the lights went out again and complete darkness fell. 

If it had been difficult collecting themselves before, it was far worse this time. But once they all had managed to gather themselves together, the dwarves and Bilbo lay down to rest once more. 

When the night was getting old, the Doctor saw the lights again. As Thorin had him give his word that he would wake them if he was to see more lights, the Doctor woke the dwarf up, and they were off again.

Once again, the lights had disappeared, leaving the party in darkness and chaos as they attempted to find each other again. 

As the Doctor paused in an attempt to use his auditory senses to locate each one of the group, he felt something touch him. A strong, sticky string was against his left hand, and his legs, he tried to get up, but he was forced to the ground. Then, a great spider came from behind him. Its eyes shone in the night and with one deep stab in the back of the neck, the Doctor fell unconscious.

The Doctor opened his eyes to talking. His body was confined in a thick trap of spider silk. 

“It was a sharp struggle, but worth it.” A voice was saying, “What nasty thick skins they have to be sure, but I’ll wager there is good juice inside.”  
“Aye, they’ll make fine eating, when they’ve hung a bit.” Another voice said.  
“Don’t hang ‘em too long,” said a third, “They’re not as fat as they might be. Been feeding none too well of late, I should guess.”  
“Kill ‘em, I say,” hissed a fourth, “Kill ‘em now and hang ‘em dead for a while.”  
“They’re dead now, I’ll warrant,” Said the first.  
“They are not. I saw one a-struggling just now. Just coming round again, I should say, after a bee-autiful sleep. I’ll show you.”

The Doctor froze, the last thing he wanted was to be caught struggling. The sound of feet rushed towards him. The Doctor assumed the others must be there as well.

There was a muffled yelp, then a noise like kicking a flat football, then laughing.

“You were quite right!” One said, “The meat’s alive and kicking!”  
“I’ll soon put an end to that.” Hissed another.

Suddenly, there was the sound of something hard hitting the head of a spider and it dropping senseless off the tree. Then, another object went whizzing through a web, snapping its cords, and another whack of it hitting another spider. There was a deal of commotion in the spider colony, and they seemed to forget the dwarves and the Doctor for a bit, searching for the presumably invisible hobbit. 

The sounds of spiders got farther and farther away, giving the Doctor the chance to break apart the webs with his above-average strength. He landed hard on the ground, but pulled himself up and began to release the dwarves.

Soon, Bilbo returned in a huff, breathing hard, and they began to work together, releasing Fili, Kili, Bifur, Bofur, Dori, and Nori, but there were still five dwarves hanging at the end of the branch when the spiders began to come back, more full of rage than ever. They started to hiss.

“Now we see you, you nasty little creature! We will eat you and leave your bones and skin hanging on a tree. Ugh! He’s got a sting, has he? Well, we’ll get him all the same, and then we’ll hang him head downwards for a day or two.”

“Keep going.” The Doctor whispered to Bilbo, as they continued to try to cut the rest of the dwarves free.

The Doctor fumbled in his pockets as the spiders approached, pulling out his Sonic Screwdriver. It buzzed, the high frequencies scaring and confusing the spiders, the sound creating stress on the nervous system.

The spiders froze and chaos ensued as the spiders fought to flee the noise.

“Come on.” Bilbo and the Doctor continued to cut the dwarves down.

Down the dwarves scrambled, jumped, or dropped, twelve all in a heap, most of them very shaky and little use on their legs. 

“How did you scare away the spiders?” Bilbo asked. 

“High frequency waves, muttles up the brains.”  
“I’m not even going to pretend to understand.” Bilbo murmured.

“Come on!” The Doctor called to the dwarves, let’s get out of here.”

They moved slowly but steadily away. At last, they noticed that they had come to the edge of a ring where the elf-fires had been. The Doctor licked the ash from the fire, “This is from last night.” He determined as Bilbo raised an eyebrow. It seemed that some good magic lingered in such spots, which the spiders did not like, and therefore did not pursue. At any rate, the light here was greener and the boughs less thick and threatening, and they had a chance to rest and draw breath.

They lay there for some time, the dwarves and Bilbo puffing and panting, but very soon they began to ask questions, and Bilbo explained the ring to them, as they had seen him disappear so as to escape capture. The dwarves found the ring so interesting that they seemed to forget their own troubles for a while. Balin in particular insisted on having the Gollum story, riddles and all, told all over again, with the ring in its proper place. The Doctor and Bilbo neglected to inform them about the Doctor’s adverse reaction to said ring. But after a time the light began to fall and than other questions were asked. Where were they, and where was their path, and where was there any food, and what were they going to do next? They asked these questions over and over again, and it was from the Doctor and Bilbo that they seemed to expect these answers.

But there were no answers to these questions, and so they fell silent again, all except for Balin. Long after the others had stopped talking and shut their eyes, he kept on muttering and chuckling to himself.  
“Gollum! Well, I’m blest! So that’s how he sneaked past me, is it? Now I know! Just crept quietly along did you, Mr. Baggins? Good old Bilbo – Bilbo – Bilbo – bo – bo – bo –” And then he fell asleep, and there was complete silence for a long while.

All of a sudden, Dwalin opened an eye, and looked around at them. “Where is Thorin?” he asked.  
It was a terrible shock.Of course there were only fourteen of them, twelve dwarves, the Hobbit, and the Doctor. Where indeed was Thorin? They wondered what evil fate had befallen him, magic or dark monsters.

“We need to rest.” The Doctor said, “Come morning, we’ll look for him.”  
There was a murmur of agreement and one by one the dwarves closed their eyes and let sleep take them once more.


	10. Barrels Without Bond

The next morning, the Doctor, Bilbo, and the dwarves made one last despairing effort to find a way out before they died of hunger and thirst. They got up, and made their way in the direction which the Doctor guessed to be the one in which the path lay, but they never found out if they were right. Such day as there ever was in the forest was fading once more into the blackness of night, when suddenly out sprang the light of many torches all around them, like hundreds of red stars. Out leaped Wood-elves with their bows and spears and called the dwarves, hobbit, and Time Lord to a halt.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor saw Bilbo put the ring on and slip out of sight. The Doctor did try to negotiate with the elves, but they demanded his silence and bound him and the dwarves up. Each dwarf, as well as the Doctor, were blindfolded. The elves made their prisoners go as fast as they could, sick and weary as they were. The king had ordered them to make haste. The Doctor felt himself crossing a bridge, he could hear the water rushing underneath, swift and strong.

Across the bridge the elves thrust their prisoners and the great gates closed behind them with a clang.

The elf-guards sang as they marched along the twisting, crossing, and echoing paths. The prisoners were brought before the king, who told his men to unbind them, for they were ragged and weary. “Besides, they need no ropes in here,” he said, “There is no escape from my magic doors for those who are once brought inside.”

Long and searchingly, he questioned the dwarves about their doings, where they were going to, and where they were coming from but he got little of anything out of any of them.

They immediately mistrusted the Doctor, for what elf could trust a man?

Each of the prisoners were placed in a separate cell and was given food and drink, but not allowed to pass the doors of their little prison, until one at least of them was willing to tell him all he wanted to know.

The moment the Doctor was left alone in his cell, he pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver, unlocked the door, and strode out. It was eerily quiet. He pulled open another door when

– SMACK –

The Doctor walked into an invisible force.

“Bilbo!”

“Doctor!”

“Shhh!” The Doctor hushed the hobbit, “Come on, do you know where they took the others?”

“Yeah, I’ve been walking around –”

“Brilliant, allons-y!”

“But Doctor,” Bilbo said, “the ring only conceals one of us.” The Doctor shrugged,

“And?”

“How are we going to avoid getting spotted?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “Well, you know where everyone is, right?”

“Yes?”

“Then you go get them and bring them as far down the river as you can. I’ve got a plan.”

“Will you need the ring?”

“Nope.” The Doctor grinned, popping the ‘p’, “Getting spotted is just what I’m counting on.”

The Doctor went sprinting through the halls, making as much noise as possible. Elves sprinted after him, but he jumped and slid and dove his way through the palace. He needed to give Bilbo as much time as possible.

Suddenly, there was a sword against his torso, but his momentum was too great, and he cried out in pain, stumbling but continuing as it struck him. Blood was now pouring from his wound, but he kept moving, the adrenaline the only thing keeping him going.

Arrows were now flying. The elves had evidently changed their minds about wanting him alive and were resolving to take him down however they could. He swerved around the corridor skillfully, but that didn’t stop a number of arrows from lodging themselves in him.

He ran through the palace, unsure how long he could keep this up for, his pace was already slowing.

“Doctor!” Bilbo’s voice was suddenly beside him, pulling him into a wine cellar. In it were all the dwarves, crammed inside empty wine barrels.

“We found one big enough for you.” Bilbo said excitedly.

“Right, brilliant.” The Doctor said, dropping heavily into a bucket.

“Doctor, are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine, come on.”

Bilbo pulled the lever, sending the barrels cascading into the river, Bilbo jumping in one just in time. They floated in a dark tunnel of icy water, but very soon a grey patch came in the darkness ahead. With a buzz of the Sonic, the watergate opened and they were in the midst of a bobbing and bumping mass of casks and tubs all pressing together to pass under the arch and get out into the open stream.

At last, the jostling crowd began to break up and swing off, one by one, under the stony arch and away. It was only then that the Doctor saw the suddenly stooping roof where the gate was.

They exited under the overhanging branches of the trees on either bank. They twisted off down the stream and out into the main current, but finally they made it to a place where the trees on both sides grew thinner and the dark river suddenly opened wide and joined to the main water of the forest river flowing down in haste from the king’s great doors. There was a dim sheet of water no longer overshadowed and on its sliding surface there were dancing and broken reflections of clouds and stars. Then the hurrying water swept all the company of casks and tubs away to the north bank. This had a shore under hanging banks and was walled at the eastern end by a little jutting cape of hard rock. On the shallow shore most of the barrels ran aground, though a few went on he bump against the stony pier.

The day grew lighter and warmer as they floated along. After a while, the river rounded a steep shoulder of land that came down upon their left. Under its rocky feet, like an inland cliff, the deepest stream had flowed lapping and bubbling. Suddenly, the cliff fell away. The shores sank. The trees ended. Then the Doctor saw a sight:

The lands opened wide about him, filled with the waters of the river which broke up and wandered in a hundred winding courses, or halted in marshes and pools dotted with isles on every side, but still a strong water flowed on steadily through the midst.

The Doctor pulled the arrows out of his calf, shoulder blade, and thigh. The torso wound was already beginning to close up, but the blood-loss had been great and his hearts were beating rapidly, desperate to compensate for the loss.

He looked up and found that far away, its dark head in a torn cloud, loomed the Mountain. Its nearest neighbors to the north-east and the tumbled land that joined it to them could not be seen. All alone it rose and looked across the marshes to the forest. The Lonely Mountain.


	11. On the Doorstep

The Doctor opened his eyes, he hadn’t even realized he had passed out. He was lying on his back in the ground being poked in the face by Balin, Gloin, and Ori. The Doctor groaned, “We made it then, did we?”

“You all right, Doctor?”

“Course.” The Doctor lied, pushing himself up. “Where’s Bilbo, then?”

“Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Mr. Baggins have gone to Laketown.” 

“Brilliant, I’m heading there, then.”

“Are you sure –”

“Yep.” The Doctor grinned, popping the ‘p’. He stumbled to his feet. “Which way, then?” Dwalin pointed and the Doctor began to walk along the shore to the great bridge. There were guards at the head of it, but they were not keeping a very careful watch.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m the Doctor.” The Doctor flashed his psychic paper.

“Of course, sir, our Master is at a feast with many guests.”

“That will be fine.” The Doctor smiled.

“Follow me, then.” said the captain, and with six men around them, they led the Doctor over the bridge, through the gates, and into the market-place of the town. This was a wide circle of quiet water surrounded by tall piles on which the greater houses were built, and by long wooden quays with many steps and ladders going down to the surface of the lake. From one great hall shone many lights and there came the sound of many voices. As they passed its door, they stood blinking into the light looking at long tables filled with men as well as three dwarves and one hobbit.

“I present, the Doctor of Gallifrey!” One of the guards announced as the Doctor entered. All the men, as well as the Master, rose from their feet. 

“There are many surprises this day,” said the Master, who by now knew better than to want to make enemies with the fabled Doctor.

The Doctor was offered a seat at the banquet table, which he gladly took. His injuries still ached, but he could feel them closing and healing. For the next few days the dwarves, the hobbit, and the Doctor recovered from their malnutrition and were fitted with fine cloth and combed and trimmed hair. Thorin walked around as if his kingdom was already regained and Smaug chopped up into little pieces.

At the end of a fortnight, Thorin began to think of departure. So they spoke to the Master and his councillors and said that they must soon be on their way towards the Mountain.

For the first time, the Master seemed surprised and a little frightened, but he allowed them to take their leave. So, although autumn was now getting far on, the winds were cold and the leaves were falling fast three large boats left Lake-town, laden with rowers, dwarves, Bilbo, the Doctor, and many provisions. Horses and ponies had been sent around by circuitous paths to meet them at their appointed landing-place, and the Master and his councillors bade them farewell from the great steps of the town-hall that went down the lake. People sang on the quays and out of windows, and the white oars dipped and splashed, and off they went north up the lake on the last stage of their long journey.

In two days they rowed right up the Long Lake and passed out into the River Running. They could now see the Lonely Mountain, towering grim and tall before them. The stream was strong and their going slow. At the end of the third day, some miles up the river, they drew into the western bank and disembarked. Here they were joined by the horses with other provisions, necessities, and ponies for their own use that had been sent to meet them. They packed what they could onto the ponies and the rest was made into a store under a tent, but none of the men of the town would stay with them, even for the night, so near the shadow of the Mountain.

It only took one cold and lonely night for the dwarves’ spirits to fall. The next day they set out again, the Doctor and Bilbo rode behind, each leading another pony heavily laden beside him; the others were some way ahead, picking out a slow road, for there were no paths. They made their way north-west, slanting away from the River Running, and drawing even nearer to a great spur of the Mountain that was flung out southwards towards them.

It was a weary journey, and a quiet and stealthy one. There was no laughter, song, or sound of harps, and the pride and hopes which had stirred in their hearts at the singing of old songs by the lake died away to a plodding gloom. They knew that they were drawing near to the end of their journey, and that it might be a very horrible end. The land around them  grew bleak and barren, though once, as the Doctor told them and Thorin confirmed, it had been green and fair. There was little grass, and before long there was neither bush nor tree, and only broken and blackened stups to speak of one's long vanished. They were come to the Desolation of the Dragon and they came at the waning of the year.

They reached the outskirts of the Mountain without meeting any danger and without any sign of the Dragon other than the wilderness that he had made into his lair. The Mountain lay dark and silent before them and even higher above them. They made their first camp on the western side of the great southern spur, which ended in a height called Ravenhill. On this there had been an old watch-post; but they dared not climb it yet, it was too exposed.

Before setting out to search the western spurs of the Mountain for the hidden door on which all their hopes rested, Thorin sent out a scouting expedition to spy out the land to the South where the Front Gate stood. For this purpose, it was the Doctor, Balin, Fili, Kili, and Bilbo who went out. They marched under the grey and silent cliffs to the feet of Ravenhill. There, the river, after winding a wide loop over the valley of Dale, turned from the Mountain on its road to the Lake, flowing swiftly and noisily. Its bank was bare and rocky, tall and steep above the stream and gazing out from it over the narrow water, foaming and splashing among many boulders, they could see in the wide valley shadowed by the Mountain’s arms the grey ruins of ancient houses, towers, and walls.

“There lies all that is left of Dale,” Balin said, “The mountain’s sides were green with woods and all the sheltered valley rich and pleasant in the days when the bells rang in that town.” He looked both sad and grim as he said this, as he had been one of Thorin’s companions on the day the Dragon came.

They did not dare to follow the river much further towards the gate, but they went on beyond the end of the southern spur until, lying hidden behind a rock, they could see the dark, cavernous opening in a great cliff-wall between the arms of the Mountain. Out of it, the waters of the Running River sprang, and out of it too there came a steam and a dark smoke. Nothing moved in the waste but the vapour and water, and every now and again a black, ominous crow. The only sound was the sound of the stony water, and every now and again the harsh croak of a bird. 

Balin shuddered. “Let us return!” He said, “We can do no good here! And I don’t like these dark birds, they look like spies of evil.”

“The dragon is still alive in the halls under the Mountain the – or I imagine so from the smoke,” Bilbo said observantly.

“It appears so,” The Doctor agreed.

“That does not prove it,” said Balin, “Although I don’t doubt you are right. But he must be gone away some time, or he might be lying out on the mountain-side keeping watch, and still I expect smokes and steams would come out of the gates: All the halls within must be filled with his foul reek.”

They made their way back to camp. It had only been June when they had been guests in the house of Elrond, but autumn now was crawling towards winter. They were alone in the perilous waste without hope of further help. 

They then moved their camp to a long valley, narrower than the great dale in the South, where the Gates of the river stood, and walled with lower spurs of the Mountain. Two of these thrust forwards, west from the main mass in long steep-sided ridges that fell ever downwards towards the plain. On this western side, there were fewer signs of the dragon’s marauding feet and there was some grass for their ponies. From this western camp, shadowed all day by cliff and wall until the sun began to sink towards the forest, day by day they toiled in parties searching for paths up the mountain-side. If the map was true, the secret door would be found somewhere high above the cliff at the valley’s head. Day by day they came back to their camp without success.

At last, they found what they were seeking. Fili and Kili and the hobbit went back one day down the valley and scrambled among the tumbled rocks at its southern corner. About midday, creeping behind a great stone that stood alone like a pillar, the Doctor came upon what looked like rough steps going upwards. Following these in excitement, he found traces of a narrow track, often lost, often rediscovered, that wandered on to the top of the southern ridge and brought them at last to a still narrower ledge, which turned north across the face of the Mountain. Looking down, they saw that they were at the top of the cliff at the valley’s head and were gazing down on to their own camp below. Silently, clinging to the rocky wall on their right, they went in single file along the ledge until the wall opened and they turned into a little steep-walled bay, grassy-floored, still and quiet. Its entrance, which they had found could not be seen from below because of the overhang of the cliff, nor from further off because it was so small that it looked like a dark crack and no more. It was not a cave, as it was open to the sky above, but at its inner end, a flat wall rose up in the lower part, close to the ground, and it was smooth and upright, but without a joint or crevice to be seen. There was no sign or indication of a bar, bolt, or key-hole. 

The Doctor pulled out his sonic and pointed. Slowly, a part of the rock-wall gave way; long straight cracks appeared and widened, and a door five feet high and three feet across was outline. Slowly, it swung inwards. It seemed as if darkness flowed out like a vapour from the hole in the mountain-side and deep darkness, in which very little could be seen, lay before their eyes.


	12. Inside Information

The dwarves paused. At last, Thorin spoke:

“Now is the time for our esteemed warrior, who has proved himself a good companion on our long road, and a wizard full of courage and resource, and if I may say so possessed of good luck far exceeding the usual allowance – now is the time for him to perform the service for which he was included in our Company; now is the time for him to earn his Reward.”

The Doctor had been long-familiar with Thorin’s style, and he knew exactly what he was driving at.

“Yes, I’ll go into the secret passage first,” The Doctor said, “You could’ve just asked. Anyone want to come?”

“I’ll go!” Bilbo stepped forwards boldly.

“Brilliant, Allons-y!”

 

The stars were coming out behind them in a pale sky barred with black when the Doctor and Bilbo crept through the enchanted door and stole into the Mountain. It was far easier than they expected, which the Doctor knew meant that whatever was in that mountain was deadly enough that it needed no protection.

It was a passage made by dwarves when they had been at the height of their wealth and skill: straight as a ruler, smooth-floored and smooth-sided, going with a gentle never-varying slope direct to some distant end in the blackness below.

“You should put on the ring.” The Doctor suggested as they crept down the tunnel. Bilbo nodded, slipping the ring onto his finger and disappearing from sight.

They crept noiselessly down into the dark tunnel until all signs of the door behind them had faded away. It was beginning to feel warm.

“What’s that?” Bilbo whispered, but the Doctor hushed him.

They made their way forwards, and a small red glow grew and grew until the tunnel was getting quite hot. Wisps of vapour floated up and past them and there was the noise of a large, vast animal snoring in its sleep down there in the red glow in front of them. They made their way to the end of the tunnel, an opening of much the same size and shape of the door above. Before them lay the great bottom-most cellar or dungeon-hall of the ancient dwarves right at the Mountain’s root. There, rising from the near side of the rocky floor, was the great glow of Smaug.

There Smaug lay, a vast red-golden dragon, fast asleep; a thrumming came from his jaws and nostrils, and wisps of smoke, but his fires were low in slumber. Beneath him, under all his limbs and his large coiled tail, as well as all around him on all sides stretching away across the unseen floors, lay countless piles of precious things, gold wrought and unwrought gems, jewels, and silver red-stained in the ruddy light.

Smaug lay, with wings folded like an immeasurable bat, turned partly on one side, so that the Time-Lord could see his long pale belly crusted with gems and fragments of gold from his long lying on his costly bed. Behind him, where the walls were nearest, the Doctor could see coats of mail, helms, axes, swords, and spears hanging; and there in rows stood great jars and vessels filled with wealth.

It was beautiful.

The Doctor and Bilbo gazed for what seemed like forever, before drawn back to the dragon. “Bring this back to the dwarves.” The Doctor handed Bilbo a large golden cup. “I’m going to take a look around.

“Stay safe.”

The Doctor strode through the mountains of gold, searching for the one prize he knew Thorin would value above them all.

Suddenly, a great hot wind shook the room as the dragon began to rise from the gold.

“Bollacks.” The Doctor began to run. Whilst he didn’t usually use such language, as he was alone and being chased by a large dragon, he thought it appropriate.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!” Smaug yelled as the Doctor ran through the tunnels. Smaug’s screams of anger echoed in the stony hollows.

“Run!” The Doctor sprinted out of the Mountain where they stayed until dawn.

When the morning came, the dwarves seemed less terrified, as they had realized that dangers of this kind were inevitable in dealing with such a guardian, and that it was no good giving up on their quest yet. Nor could they get away just now, as Thorin had pointed out. Their ponies were lost or killed and they would have to wait some time before Smaug relaxed his watch sufficiently for them to dare the long way on foot. Lucky for them, the Doctor still had plenty of stories to tell.

They debated for a long time as to what should be done, but they couldn’t figure out a way of sending Smaug away, as the Doctor had insisted that there would be no killing.

“But you are a warrior!” Thorin protested.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not?” The Doctor bellowed.

There was a pause. “Fine then, I’m going to creep down this afternoon and see what Smaug’s up to. Maybe have a chat, see if we can come to a compromise.”

“Negotiate? With a dragon?”

“Yep.” The Doctor grinned, “Allons-y!”

Smaug looked fast asleep when the Doctor snuck into the cavern.  It was almost dead and dark, with scarcely a snore more than a whiff of unseen steam coming from the dragon. The Doctor took a step out onto the floor when he caught a sudden thin and piercing ray of red from under the drooping lid of Smaug’s left eye. He had only been pretending to sleep. The Doctor jumped back.

Smaug spoke:

“Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Come along! Help yourself again, there is plenty and to spare!”

“Thank you, O great Smaug.” The Doctor praised the dragon tactically, “I only come to speak to you.”

“Are you now?” Smaug asked in amusement. 

“Why yes, I am.” The Doctor said confidently.

“You have nice manners for a thief.” Smaug said, “You seem familiar with my name, but I don’t seem to remember smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?”

“You may,” The Doctor said, “I am from Gallifrey in the Constellation of Kasterborous.”

“Who are you who speaks of the stars?”

“I am the Doctor.”

“A lovely title, but that is hardly a usual name.”

“Well it is my name.”

“Very well, O physician of the stars,” Smaug said, “Where is it that you hide from me?” 

The Doctor was hiding between gold mountains, walking around to avoid being pinpointed. 

“In return for such curtacies, I will give you one piece of advice: don’t have more to do with dwarves than you can help!”

“Dwarves?” The Doctor asked.

“Don’t talk to me!” Smaug said in disgust, “I know the smell (and taste) of dwarf – no one better. Don’t tell me that I can eat a dwarf-ridden pony and not know it! You’ll come to a bad end if you go with such friends, Thief physician. I don’t mind if you go back and tell them so from me.” But the Doctor could tell that he could still not make out his Time-Lord scent, and if there was anything dragons loved, it was a mystery. “I suppose you got a fair price for that cup last night?” Smaug went on. “Come now, did you?”

“I am not interested in money and wealth.”

“Then why are you here physician?”

“I am on a quest,” The Doctor said, “To recover something that was wrongfully stolen.”

“Come on now, the dwarves are no doubt sulking outside, and your job is to do all the dangerous work and get what you can when I’m not looking – for them? And you will get nothing? Don’t you believe it! If you get off alive, you will be lucky.”

“I have lived through much more dangerous than this.” The Doctor laughed, “And I have no desire for wealth or gratitude. I do what is right. It is they who desire revenge.”

“Revenge!” Smaug snorted, and the light of his eyes lit the hall from floor to ceiling like scarlet lightning. “Revenge! The King under the Mountain is dead and where are his kin that dare seek revenge? Girion Lord of Dale is dead, and I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep, and where are his sons’ sons that dare approach me? I kill where I wish and none dare resist. I laid low the warriors of old and their like is not in the world today. Then I was but young and tender. Now I am old and strong, strong, strong, Thief in the Shadows!” Smaug gloated. “My armour is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!”

“I was under the understanding that dragons were softer underneath, but I have no doubt that one so fortified has not thought of that.” The Doctor began to sweet-talk in the hopes that Smaug would accidentally expose some sort of weak spot.

“Your information is antiquated,” Smaug snapped. “I am armoured above and below with iron scales and hard gems. No blade can pierce me.”

“Truly there can be found no equal in these lands to you. What magnificence to possess such a waistcoat.”

“Yes, it is rare and wonderful, indeed.” Smaug said, pleased. He rolled over to reveal his underbelly. “Look!” He said, “What do you say to that?”

“Dazzling.” The Doctor said, as he had just spotted a large patch in the hollow of his left breast as bare as a snail out of its shell. “O great Smaug, what if I told you that I could find you a Mountain with even greater riches?”

“I would not believe you.” Smaug laughed.

“I can take you somewhere, you would be left alone and well-fed and have the largest pile of gold that you have ever seen, you just have to trust me.”

“I WILL NEVER TRUST YOU!” Smaug shouted, fire spewing from his mouth to where he had pinpointed the Doctor to be.

The Doctor sprinted to the tunnel, feeling Smaug’s fire burning his flesh. He swore colourfully in Gallifreyan as he didn’t dive out of the way fast enough, and his entire right side was hit.

Finally, he managed to get safely out to where Smaug couldn’t fit. He groaned as he examined the extent of the wounds. Nothing a good healing comma couldn’t fix. Except, the Doctor hadn’t been sleeping. The adventure had brought up memories that he preferred to have stored nicely at the back of his mind.

He finally decided that they were only burns and wouldn’t take that long to heal on their own. 

The Doctor stumbled onto the doorstep. The dwarves seemed pleased to see his return and were eager to hear his story. He recited it as he wrapped his wounds. An old thrush was sitting on a rock nearby with its head cocked to one side, listening to all that was said.

The Doctor did admit to finding a chink in the so-called diamond waistcoat of the dragon’s armour, and the dwarves did get quite excited. They turned the conversation and they all began discussing historical dragon-slayings, dubious and mythical, all various sorts of stabs, jabs, and cuts. The general opinion seemed to be that catching a dragon napping was not as easy as it sounded, and attempting to stick one or prod one whilst asleep was more likely to end in disaster. All the while they spoke, the thrush listened until, at last, when the stars began to peep forth, it silently spread its wings and flew off.

From that, the talk turned to the great hoard itself and to the things that Thorin and Balin remembered. They wondered if they were still lying there, unharmed, in the hall below: the spears that were made for the armies of the great King Bladorthin (who was long since dead), each had a thrice-forged head and their shafts were inlaid with cunning gold, but they were never delivered or paid for; shields made for warriors long dead; the great golden cup of Thror,  two-handed, hammered and carven with birds and flowers whose eyes and petals were of jewels; coats of mail gilded and silvered and impenetrable; the necklace of Girion, Lord of Dale, made of five hundred emeralds , green as grass, which he gave for the arming of his eldest son in a coat of dwarf-linked rings, the likes of which had never been made before, for it was wrought of pure silver to the power and strength of triple steel. But fairest of all was the great white gem, which the dwarves had found beneath the roots of the Mountain, the Heart of the Mountain, the Arkenstone of Thrain.

“The Arkenstone! The Arkenstone!” murmured Thorin in the dark, half-dreaming with his chin upon his knees. “It was like a globe with a thousand facets; it shone like silver in the firelight, like water in the sun, like snow under the stars, like rain upon the Moon!” Thorin sounded mystified in the memory, but the enchanted desire of the hoard was nothing the Doctor had any interest in.

It was that evening that the sound of Smaug left the Mountain. Where he was going, they didn’t know, but it wouldn’t be good.


	13. Not At Home

The dwarves, Bilbo, and the Doctor sat in silence. They didn’t eat or speak much, and the Doctor was counting the passing of time. After a while, the Doctor made his way back into the cavern, not willing to stay and allow his eyes to rest.

He wandered through the vast mountains of treasure, he climbed to the top of one, gazing around at the glimmering hall. Then, he saw it. The Arkenstone. The Heart of the Mountain. It was truly incredible; large and beautiful and shining like the stars. The Doctor picked it up, placing it in his pocket to bring to the dwarves.

The Doctor went on, down the other side of the great mound and crossed the hall as the Doctor heard footsteps. The Dwarves and Bilbo had made their way down to join him.

“We just thought with the dragon gone…” Bilbo said awkwardly.

“Right, right.” The Doctor gave an inviting gesture and they all made their way in.

The dwarves were eager to explore the hall whilst they had the chance, and willing to believe that, for the time being, Smaug was away from home. Each gripped a lighted torch, the Doctor had been using the one from his pocket. The dwarves began to speak aloud, cry  out to one another as they lifted old treasures from the mound or wall and held them in the light, caressing them.

Fili and Kili were almost in a merry mood, and finding, still hanging there, many golden harps strung with silver. They took them and struck them, and having been untouched by the dragon, who had small interest in music, they were still in tune.

The dark hall was filled with a melody that had long been silent. But most of the dwarves were more practical, gathering gems and stuffing their pockets. The Doctor picked up a small Kambila, clearly lost by some elven prince, for perhaps a more entertaining evening.

Thorin searched from side to side for something which he could not find. The Doctor knew it was the Arkenstone, but Thorin had not spoken of it yet. The Doctor would have handed it to him straight away, but there was something in his eyes, that flicker of madness, that desperation, that dragon-sickness.

The dwarves took down the mail and weapons from the walls and armoured themselves. Thorin indeed looked royal, clad in a coat of gold-plated rings with a silver-halved axe in a belt crusted with scarlet stones.

“Mr. Baggins!” Thorin cried. “Here is the first payment of your reward! Cast off your old coat and put on this!”

Bilbo put on a small coat of mail, wrought for some young elf-prince long ago. It was made of silver-steel, which the elves called mithril, and with it went a belt of pearls and crystals. A light helm of figured leather, strengthened beneath with hoops of steel, studded about the brim with white gems, was set upon the hobbit’s head.

Long before the dwarves were tired of examining the treasures, the Doctor grew weary of such activities and made his way outside for some air. He sat down, overlooking the valleys below. It was quiet. Dark. Peaceful. 

He felt the small Kambila still clutched in his hands. It was one of the few human instruments that had come from Gallifrey. His hands danced across the instrument as music filled the silent air. His hands moved almost unconsciously, he would never forget this tune.

“Where’d you learn how to play?” Bilbo’s voice cut through the freshly silent air as the Doctor finished playing. The Doctor was quiet for a moment.

“My mum used to play it to me as a lullaby.” Tears filled his ancient eyes as the memories of Gallifrey returned. His mum would play it to him every single night before he was shipped off to the Academy. “And I played it for my children and them for theirs.”

“You have children?” The Doctor hesitated.

Instead of answering the hobbit, he began to play again, the ancient tune filling the air. 

It wasn’t long before they were forced to return down into the cabin and speak with the dwarves.

“Thorin!” Bilbo cried as they reached him, “What next? We are armed, but what good has any armour ever been before against Smaug the Dreadful? This treasure is not yet won back. We are not looking for gold yet, but for a way of escape, and we have tempted luck too long!”

“You speak the truth!” answered Thorin, recovering his wits. “Let us go! I will guide you. Not in a thousand years should I forget the ways of this palace.” He then hailed the others and they gathered together, holding their torches above their heads. They passed through the gapoing doors, but not without many backwards glances of longing.

Their glittering mail they had covered again with their old cloaks and their bright helms with their tattered hoods, and one by one they walked behind Thorin, a line of little lights in the darkness that halted often, listening in fear once more for any rumour of the dragon’s coming.

Although all the old adornments were long mouldered or destroyed, and although all was befouled and blasted with the comings and goings of the monster, Thorin knew every passage and every turn. They climbed long stairs and turned and went down wide echoing ways, and turned again, climbing yet more stairs, and yet more stairs again. These were smooth, cut out of the living rock broad and fair up and up they went, they met no sign of any living thing, only furtive shadows that fled from the approach of their torches fluttering in the draughts.

The steps were not all made the same, and suddenly, the roof sprang high and far beyond the reach of their torchlight. A white glimmer could be seen coming through some opening far above, and the air smelt sweeter. Before them, light came dimly through great doors that hung twisted on their hinges and half burnt.

“This is the great chamber of Thror,” said Thorin, “the hall of feasting and of council. Not far off now is the Front Gate.”

They passed through the ruined chamber. Tables were rotting there, chairs and benches were lying there, overturned, charred, and decaying. Skulls and bones were there upon the floor among flagons, bowls, broken drinking horns and dust. As they came through yet more doors at the further end, the sound of water full upon their ears and the grey light grew suddenly more full.

“There is the birth of the Running River,” said Thorin, “From here it hastens to the Gate. Let us follow it!”

Out of a dark opening in a wall of rock, there issued a boiling water. It flowed swirling in a narrow channel, carved and made straight and deep by the cunning of ancient hands. Beside it ran a stone-paved road, wide enough for many men abreast. Swiftly, along this, they ran around a wide-sweeping turn and before them stood the broad light of day. In front of there rose a tall arch, still showing the fragments of old carven work within, worn and splintered and blackened though it was. A misty sun sent its pale light between the arms of the Mountain, and beams of gold fell on the pavement at the threshold.

A whirl of bats frightened from slumber by their smoking torches flurried over them. As they sprang forwards, their feet slithered on stones that were rubbed smooth and slimed by the passing of the dragon. Now before them, the water fell noisily outwards and foamed down towards the valley. They flung their pale torches to the ground and stood, gazing out with dazzled eyes. They came upon the Front Gate and were looking out upon Dale.

The breeze was bitter and it blew with a threat of oncoming winter. It swirled over and around the arms of the Mountain into the valley, and sighed among the rocks.

“It seems to be late morning,” Bilbo said, “and so I suppose it is more or less breakfast-time – if there is any breakfast to have. But I don’t feel that Smaug’s front doorstep is the safest place for a meal. Do let’s go somewhere where we can sit quiet for a bit!”

“Quite right.” The Doctor agreed. 

“And I think I know which way we should go: we ought to make for the old look-out post at the South-West corner of the Mountain.”

“Come, come!” said Thorin, laughing, for his spirits had begun to rise again as he rattled the precious stones in his pockets. “You wait until this place has been cleaned and redecorated!”

“That won’t be until Smaug’s dead,” the Doctor reminded him.

“In the meanwhile, where is he?” Bilbo asked, “I hope he is not up on the Mountain looking down at us.”

That idea quickly decided that they ought to keep moving, Balin leading the way.

Under the rocky wall to the right, there was no path so they trudged among the stones on the left side of the river. The bridge that Balin had spoken of they found long fallen and most of its stones were no only boulders in the shallow noisy stream, but they forded the water without much difficulty and found the ancient steps and climbed the high bank. After going a short way they struck the old road and, before long, came to a deep dell, sheltered among the rocks. There, they rested for a while and had breakfast.

After that, they went on again, and now the road struck westwards and left the river and the great shoulder of the south-pointing mountain-spur drew ever nearer. At length, they reached the hill path. It scrambled steeply up and they plodded slowly, one behind the other, until at last, in the great afternoon, they came to the top of the ridge and saw the wintry sun going downwards to the West.

“Here,” Balin said, “In the old days we used always to keep watchmen, and that door behind leads into a rock-hewn chamber that was made here as a guardroom. There were several places like it around the Mountain. But there seemed small need for watching in the days of our prosperity, and the guards were made over comfortable, perhaps – otherwise we might have had longer warning of the coming of the dragon, and things might have been different. Still, here we can lie hid and sheltered for a while, and we can see much without being seen.”

“Not much use if we have been seen coming here,” Dori pointed out, as he kept glancing up towards the Mountain’s peak, as if he expected to see Smaug perched there like a bird on a steeple.

“We must take our chance of that,” said Thorin. “We can go no further today.”

In the rock-chamber, there would have been room for a hundred and there was a small chamber further in more removed from the cold outside. It was quite deserted not even wild animals seemed to have used it in all the days of Smaug’s dominion. There they laid their burdens and some threw themselves down at once and slept, but the others sat near the outer door and discussed their plans. In all their talk, they came perpetually back to one thing: Where was Smaug? In all directions that they looked, there was no sign of the dragon, but there was a gathering of very many birds. At that, they gazed and wondered, but they were no nearer understanding it when the first cold stars came out.


	14. The Gathering Of The Clouds

The Doctor kept a look-out all night, but by morning, he had not heard or seen anything. But the birds were gathering ever more thickly; their companies came flying from the South and the crows that still lived about the Mountain were wheeling and crying unceasingly above.

“Something strange is happening.” The Doctor said quietly. “The crows are never around here in the autumn.”

“There is that old thrush again!” Bilbo cried out, pointing, at an old thrush. As Bilbo pointed, he flew towards them and perched on a stone nearby. He then fluttered his wings and sang, cocking his head on one side as if to listen.

“I believe he is trying to tell us something,” Said Balin.

“That he is.” The Doctor agreed, then explained, “I speak bird.”

“Tell us, Doctor, what is it that he says?” Balin asked.

“Oh, Thorin, son of Thrain, and Balin, son of Fundin,” The Doctor translated, “I am Roäc, son of Carc. Carc is dead, but he was well known to you once. It is a hundred years and three and fifty since I came out of the egg, but I do not forget what my father told me. Most of my people are abroad, for there are great tidings in the South – some are tidings of joy to you, and some you will not think so good.

“Behold! The birds are gathering back again to the Mountain and to Dale from South, East, and West, for word has gone out that Smaug is dead!”

“Dead?” The Doctor paused, “Who killed him?”  
“Bard of Esgaroth of the race of Dale, of the line of Girion!” The thrush chirped.

“What happened?” Thorin demanded.

“Smaug is dead.” The Doctor said.

“Dead! Dead?” Shouted the dwarves, “Dead! Then we have been in needless fear – and the treasure is ours!” They all sprang up and began to caper about for joy.

“So much for joy, Thorin Oakenshield,” The Doctor continued to translate, “You may go back to your halls in safety; all the treasure is yours – for the moment. But many are gathering hither beside the birds. The news of the death of the guardian has already gone far and wide, and the legend of the wealth of Thror has not lost in the telling during many years; many are eager for a share of the spoil. Already a host of elves is on the way, and carrion birds are with them, hoping for battle and slaughter. By the lake men murmur that their sorrows are due to the dwarves, for they are homeless and many have died and Smaug has destroyed their town. They too think to find amends from your treasure, whether you are alive or dead.

“Your own wisdom must decide your course, but thirteen is small remnant of the great folk of Durin that once dwelt here and now are scattered far. If you will listen to my counsel, you will not trust the Master of the Lake-men, but rather he who shot the dragon with his bow. We would see peace once more among dwarves and men and elves after the long desolation, but it may cost you dear in gold. I have spoken.”

Thorin burst forth in anger: “Our thanks, Roäc, Carc’s son.” He spat, “You and your people shall not be forgotten, but none of our gold shall thieves take or the violent carry off whilst we are alive. If you would earn our thanks still more and bring us news of any that draw near. Also, I would beg of you, if any of you are still young and strong of wing, that you would send messengers to our kin in the mountains of the North, both west and east from here, and tell them of our plight. But go specially to my cousin Dain in the Iron Hills, for he has many people well-armed and dwells nearest to this place. Bid him hasten!”

“He says he’ll do it.” The Doctor said, turning back to Thorin, “But there will be no war upon this mountain.”

“I will not give up my gold.” Thorin growled at the Doctor.

“You will if it means avoiding war.” The Doctor growled back with unexpected malice.

“Back to the Mountain!” Thorin called to Bilbo and the dwarves, and they returned to the Mountain.

 

In the following days, the dwarves explored the caverns. Tools from the old miners, quarriers, and builders were found in plenty, and the dwarves still were very skilled at such work.

The thrushes and ravens both brought them constant tidings as the dwarves worked. In this way, they learned that the Elvenking had turned aside to the Lake, and they still had a breathing space. Better still, they heard that three of their ponies, as well as the Doctor’s horse, had escaped and were wandering wild far down the banks of the Running River, not far from where the rest of their stores had been left. So whilst the dwarves went on with their work, the Doctor and Bilbo made their way into the valley to find the horse and ponies.

It took four days to find them, and by that time they knew that the joined armies of the Lake-men and the Elves were hurrying towards the Mountain. 

“You must give them what they want!” The Doctor demanded of Thorin.

“I shall not –”

“This isn’t your choice!”

“It is my gold!”

“And you have plenty of it! Plenty enough to share!”

“I will share with no man!”

“YOU SHALL SHARE WITH WHO I SAY YOU SHALL SHARE WITH!” The Doctor’s voice boomed in the echoing halls. His eyes flamed with fury.

“You truly are the warrior that Gandalf said you are.” Thorin said in awe. The Doctor froze. “But I am the King of the Mountain.” He continued, “And if I say there shall be war, then war there shall be.”

 

There came a night when suddenly there were many lights as of fires and torches away south in Dale before them.  
“They have come!” called Balin. “And their camp is very great. They must have come into the valley under the cover of dusk along both banks of the river.”

The Doctor had been locked in the dungeons, his trenchcoat and therefore Sonic Screwdriver gone. The dwarves took turns guarding him, giving him sympathetic looks, but none dared go against Thorin’s word.

Early the following morning, the company approached. The Doctor could hear them come up to the valley’s head. Men and Elves alike. 

“Who are you?” Thorin’s call echoed through the mountain. “That come as if in war to the gates of Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, and what do you desire?”

But there was no answer. They had left.

The Doctor continued to try to convince the dwarves to let him go, many expressed their wish that things had fallen out otherwise and that they might welcome such folk as friends, but Thorin would let no such thing happen.

The Doctor would listen to their song as their voices echoed through the halls:

_ Under the Mountain, dark and tall _

_ The King has come unto his hall! _

_ His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, _

_ And ever so his foes shall fall. _

 

_ The sword is sharp, the spear is long, _

_ The arrow swift, the Gate is strong; _

_ The heart is bold that looks on gold; _

_ The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong. _

 

_ The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, _

_ While hammers fell like ringing bells _

_ In places deep, where dark things sleep. _

_ In hollow halls beneath the fells. _

 

_ On silver necklaces they strung _

_ The light of stars, on crowns they hung _

_ The dragon-fire, from twisted wire _

_ The melody of harps they wrung. _

 

_ The mountain throne once more is freed! _

_ Oh! Wandering folk, the summons heed! _

_ Come haste! Come haste! Across the waste! _

_ The king of friend and kin has need. _

 

_ Now call we over mountains cold,  _

_ ‘Come back unto the caverns old’! _

_ Here at the Gates, the king awaits, _

_ His hands are rich with gems and gold. _

 

_ The king is come unto his hall _

_ Under the Mountain, dark and tall. _

_ The Worm of Dread is slain and dead, _

_ And ever so our foes shall fall! _

 

This song seemed to please Thorin, as he grew merry and began reckoning the distance to the Iron Hills and how long it would be before Dain could reach the Lonely Mountain, if he had set out as soon as the message reached him. But the Doctor’s heart fell: Thorin was going to war.

The next morning early, a company of men had been seen crossing the river and marching up the valley. Dori had said that they bore with them the green banner of the Elvenking and the blue banner of the Lake, and they advanced until they stood right before the wall at the Gate.

Again, Thorin hailed them in a loud voice: “Who are you that come armed for war to the gates of Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain?” But this time, he was answered:

“Hail Thorin!” A man cried, “Why do you fence yourself like a robber in his hold? We are not yet foes, and we rejoice that you are alive beyond our hope. We came expecting to find none living here; yet now that we are met there is matter for a parley and a council.”

“Who are you and what would you parley?” Thorin demanded.

“I am Bard, and by my hand was the dragon slain and your treasure delivered. Is that not a matter that concerns you? Moreover, I am by right descent the heir of Girion of Dale, and in your hoard is mingled much of the wealth of his halls and towns, which of old Smaug stole. Is not that a matter of which we may speak? Further, in the last battle, Smaug destroyed the dwellings of the men of Esgaroth, and I am yet the servant of their Master. I would speak for him and ask whether you have no thought for the sorrow and misery of his people. They aided you in your distress, and in recompense you have thus far brought ruin only, though doubtless undesigned.”

“You put your worst cause last and in the chief place,” Thorin answered. “To the treasure of my people no man has a claim, because Smaug who stole it from us also robbed him of life or home. The treasure was not his that his evil deeds should be amended with a share of it. The price of the goods and the assistance that we received of the Lake-men we will fairly pay – in due time. But  _ nothing  _ will we give, not even a loaf’s worth, under threat of force. While an armed host lies before our doors, we look on you as foes and thieves. It is in my mind to ask what share of their inheritance you would have paid to our kindred, had you found the hoard unguarded and us slain.”

“A just question,” replied Bard. “But you are not dead, and we are not robbers. Moreover, the wealthy may have pity beyond right on the needy that befriended them when they were in want. And still my other claims remain unanswered.”

“I will not parley, as I have said, with armed men at my gate. Nor at all with the people of the Elvenking, who I remember with small kindness. In this debate they have no place. Begone now ere our arrows fly! And if you would speak with me again, first dismiss the elvish host to the woods where it belongs, and then return, laying down your arms before you approach the threshold.”

“The Elvenking is my friend, and he has succoured the people of the Lake in their need, though they had no claim but friendship on him,” answered Bard. “We will give you time to repent your words. Gather your wisdom ere we return!”

There was silence.

They were gone.

 

Ere many hours were past, the banner-bearers returned, and the trumpeters stood forth and blew a blast:

“In the name of Esgaroth and the Forest,” one cried, “we speak unto Thorin, Thrain’s son Oakenshield, calling himself the King under the Mountain, and we bid him consider well the claims that have been urged, or be declared our foe. At the least he shall deliver one twelfth portion of the treasure unto Bard, as the dragon-slayer, and as the heir of Girion. From that portion, Bard will himself contribute to the aid of Esgaroth; but if Thorin would have the friendship and honour of the lands about, as his sires had of old, then he will give also somewhat of his own for the comfort of the men of the lake.”

Now, all things considered, this was an incredible deal. But Thorin was said to have seized a bow of horn and shot an arrow at the speaker. It smote into his shield and stuck there, quivering.

“Since such is your answer,” The speaker called in return, “I declare the Mountain besieged. You shall not depart from it until you call on your side for a truce and a parley. We will bear no weapons against you, but we leave you to your gold. You may eat that, if you will!”

With that, the messengers departed swiftly, and the dwarves were left to consider their case. Many came to consult the Doctor, who always gave the same response: Pay and stay at peace. Thorin had become grim, so much that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind – except for Bombur, Fili, Kili, and Bilbo, who agreed with the Doctor, and did spend much of their time in the dungeons with him, trying to work something out. Because there was no way that the Doctor was about to let this land become ravaged with war. Not again.


	15. Thieves In The Night

Now the days passed slowly and wearily. The Doctor was restless beyond belief. He was used to being locked up, that part wasn’t unusual, but he knew the only way to prevent war was to work from the inside out. For now, he had Bombur, Fili, Kili, and Bilbo who were on his side. 

Many of the other dwarves spent their time piling and ordering the treasure; and now Thorin spoke of the Arkenstone of Thrain. Bombur had graciously returned the Doctor his trenchcoat, so thankfully, the Doctor knew the stone was safe. But the other dwarves were searching every corner.

“For the Arkenstone of my father,” he said, “is worth more than a river of gold in itself, and to me it is beyond price. That stone of all the treasure I name unto myself, and I will be avenged on anyone who finds it and withholds it.”

The Doctor wasn’t afraid of these words, but it frightened him the lengths that Thorin was willing to go to get the Arkenstone back.

Things had gone on like this for some time, when the thrush brought news that Dain and more than five hundred dwarves, hurrying from the Iron Hills, were now within about two days’ march of Dale, coming from the North-East. When the Roäc returned was the only time Thorin allowed the Doctor to leave the dungeons, simply to translate, then to return to his prison.

“But they cannot reach the Mountain unmarked,” Roäc said, “and I fear lest there be a battle in the valley. I do not call this counsel good. Though they are a grim folk, they are not likely to overcome the host that besets you; and even if they did so, what will you gain? Winter and snow is hastening behind them. How shall you be fed without the friendship and goodwill of the lands about you? The treasure is likely to be your death, though the dragon is no more.”

The Doctor relayed this message to Thorin. “I have to agree,” The Doctor added, “The treasure is destroying you. There will be a war, and I’m not sure if you’ll win.” His eyes grew dark, “You know who I am, Thorin Oakenshield, I am the last Time Lord of Gallifrey, if I don’t want you to win, you won’t.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep you locked up until the war is done.” Thorin said, dismissing the Doctor and sending him back to the dungeons.

That night, the Doctor requested Bilbo to take watch. Bilbo arrived, bidding Fili a good night.

“What is all this about?” He asked.

“Bilbo,” The Doctor said, “I have the Arkenstone.”

_ “What?” _

“Listen, Thorin is going mad, it’s dragon sickness. He’s not going to give away his gold, he’s going to start a war.”

“So you think the Arkenstone…?”

“I will give them the Arkenstone. They can give it to Thorin in return for their share, and the peace will remain.”

“You really think that could work?”

“I have to try.” Bilbo hesitated for a moment, then ran out of the room, returning with the Doctor’s overcoat and therefore Sonic Screwdriver.

“How does it work?”

“Point it at the lock, and press the button.” 

Bilbo did just this and the lock clicked open.

“Brilliant, allons-y!”

The Doctor and Bilbo waited for full dark before they silently slipped out. The sky was black and moonless, yet the stars still twinkled down. They went to a corner of an inner chamber just within the gate and the Doctor drew from his seemingly-endless pockets a large bundle of rope previously packed. They climbed the wall, only Bombur was there, for it was his turn to watch. 

“I got this.” Bilbo whispered, clearly wanting to keep the Doctor out of sight. Bilbo pulled ahead and began to talk with Bombur.

“It is mighty cold!” said Bombur. “I wish we could have a fire up here as they have in the camp!”

“It is warm enough inside,” said Bilbo.

“I daresay; but I am bound here till midnight,” he grumbled, “A sorry business altogether. Not that I venture to disagree with Thorin, may his beard grow ever longer; yet he was ever a dwarf with a stiff neck.”

“Not as stiff as my legs,” said Bilbo. “I am so tired of stairs and stone passages. I would give a good deal to feel the grass on my toes.”

“I would give a good deal for the feel of a strong drink and a soft bed after a good supper!”

“I can’t give you those, whilst the siege is going on. But it is long since I watched, and I will take your turn for you, if you like. There is no sleep for me tonight.”

“You are a good fellow, Mr. Baggins, and I will take your offer kindly. If there should be anything to note, rouse me first, mind you! I will lie in the inner chamber to the left, not far away.”

“Off you go!” said Bilbo. “I will wake you at midnight and you can wake the next watchman.” Bombur left.

“Oh, that was brilliant.” The Doctor grinned as the two of them slipped down over the wall. They had five hours until midnight.

They made their way to the city on the path.

“Shouldn’t we attempt to be more concealed?” Bilbo asked, “Should I put on the ring?”

“No, it’s not illegal to cross into the city and we will need to be pointed in the right direction towards Bard.

“Who goes?” An elf called.

“It is I, Doctor of Gallifrey, and my companion, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire!” The Doctor called back, “We request the urgent company of Bard and the Elvenking.”

“Why must you consult with them?”

“That business is ours,” The Doctor said, “But we are attempting to bring about compromise.”

“Very well, I shall lead you to him.”

The elf separated from the other guard standing there and led the Doctor and Bilbo to a small room where the Bard and Elvenking were called.

“Who is it who seeks me at such an hour?” Bard asked, but the Elvenking recognized the Doctor.

“Ah, Doctor, is it too much to hope you are attempting to bring peace to such a time?”

“No, that is precisely my intention.” The Doctor said, “You see, when I embarked on such a quest as this, I was offered one fifteenth of the treasure in exchange for my services. I would personally be prepared to deduct what is right from the total before putting in my own claim. However, I know that Thorin Oakenshield is quite ready to sit on a heap of gold and starve as long as you sit here.”  
“Well, let him!” said Bard.

“I have an offer to make you.” The Doctor said, removing the Arkenstone from his pocket, “This is the Arkenstone of Thrain, the Heart of the Mountain. This is treasured above all else to Thorin. He values it above a river of gold. I will give it to you as my one fifteenth of the treasure, and if all goes well, Thorin will exchange it for the gold you are owed.”

“My dear Doctor, my dear Bilbo, you are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it. But I wonder if Thorin Oakenshield will see it so. I have more knowledge of dwarves than most and I advise you to remain with us, and here you shall be honoured and thrice welcome.”

“We are thankful for your offer,” The Doctor said, “But I am sure I can defend myself and my hobbit friend. We must return to the Mountain before we are missed, as we have much to do. We thank you for your kindness.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo echoed.

Nothing they could say would stop them, so an escort was provided and as they went, both the king and Bard saluted them with honour. As they passed through the camp, an old man wrapped in a dark cloak rose from a tent door where he was sitting and approached them.

“Well done!” he said clapping the Doctor and Bilbo on the back. “There is always more about the two of you than anyone expects!” It was Gandalf.

“Where have you been?” The Doctor demanded, “War is about to break out, you couldn’t have come earlier?”

“All in good time,” Gandalf promised. “Things are drawing towards the end now, unless I am mistaken. There is an unpleasant time just in front of you, but keep your hearts up! You may come through all right. There is news brewing that even the ravens have not heard. Good night!” And with that, Gandalf was gone.

“Why can’t you just tell us?” Bilbo called into the night, but there was no response.

The Doctor and Bilbo hurried on. They were guided to a safe ford and set across in a more concealed manner than before. They then bid farewell to the elves and climbed carefully back towards the gate. The Doctor untied and hid the rope, then sat down on the wall .

“What d’you think will happen?” Bilbo asked.

“I don’t know.” The Doctor breathed. “I don’t know.”


	16. The Clouds Burst

The next day the trumpets rang early in the camp as soon as a single runner was seen hurrying along the narrow path. 

“That will be Dain!” The Doctor could hear Thorin shout to the messenger. “They will have got wind of his coming. I thought that would alter their mood! Bid them come few in number and weaponless, and I will hear.”

At midday, Bilbo opened the cell door as he told the Doctor that the banners of the Forest and Lake were seen to be borne forth again. A company of twenty was approaching. At the beginning of the narrow way they laid aside sword and spear and came on towards the gate. The Doctor peered outside to see amongst the company were both Bard and the Elvenking, before whom an old man wrapped in cloak and hood bore a strong casket of iron-bound wood.

“Hail Thorin!” said Bard. “Are you still of the same mind?”

“My mind does not change with the rising and setting of a few suns,” answered Thorin. “Did you come to ask me idle questions? Still the elf-host has not departed as I bade! Till then you come in vain to bargain with me.”

“Is there then nothing for which you would yield any of your gold?”

“Nothing that you or your friends have to offer.”

“What of the Arkenstone of Thrain?” Bard asked, and at the same moment the old man opened the casket and held aloft the jewel. The light leapt from his hand, bright and white in the morning.

Thorin was dumbstruck with amazement and confusion. No one spoke for a long while as he stared at the jewel. Thorin finally broke the silence, and his voice was thick with wrath.

“That stone was my father’s, and is mine,” he said. “Why should I purchase my own?” But wonder overcame him and he added: “But how came you by the heirloom of my house – if there is need to ask such a question of thieves?”

“We are not thieves,” Bard answered. “Your own we will give back in return for our own.”

“How came you by it?” Shouted Thorin in gathering rage.

The Doctor stepped out, his form tall, powerful, full of his own ancient rage. “I gave it to them.”

“You!” Thorin cried, turning upon his looming form, “You traitor! You thief!”

“I told you Thorin Oakenshield, I am the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, the Bringer of Darkness, the Destroyer of Worlds. I am the Last Lord of Time and I will not allow a war to be brought about just because of the greed of Thorin Oakenshield!”

“How dare –”

“I was there!” The Doctor shouted, “I fought alongside your father for the home that was rightly yours! He would be ashamed of you! To look and see what you have become! You fight not for what is right, but for what your poisoned heart desires!”

“That is quite enough.” The booming voice of Gandalf caused the Doctor to turn.

“Curse your choice of warrior, Gandalf. He may be great, but a great traitor is useful not!”

“You said I could choose my one fifteenth share. That is what I chose.” The Doctor said, his calmness returning.

“You did nothing to earn your share!”  
“Than it’s my share.” Bilbo was on his feet before Thorin now.

“Bilbo…” The Doctor whispered. But Bilbo was firm.

“It’s my one fifteenth and will do as I wish with it. Are you not a dwarf of your word?”

“That I am.” said Thorin grimly. “And I will let the both of you go at that – and may we never meet again!” Then, he turned and spoke over the wall. “I am betrayed,” he said. “It was rightly guessed that I could not forbear to redeem the Arkenstone, the treasure of my house. For it I will give one fifteenth of the hoard in silver and gold, setting aside the gems; but that shall be accounted the promised share of this traitor, and with that reward he shall depart, and you can divide it as you will. He will get little enough, I doubt not. Take them, if you wish them to live; and no friendship of mine goes with them.

“Get down now to your friends!” Thorin commanded of Bilbo and the Doctor, “Or I will throw you down.”

“What about the gold and silver?” asked Bilbo.

“That shall follow after, as can be arranged.” Thorin said, “Get down!”

“Until then, we keep the stone!” cried Bard.

“You are not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain,” said Gandalf. “But things may change yet.”

“They may indeed.” said Thorin.

And so the Doctor and Bilbo swung down from the wall and departed with nothing for all their trouble, except for the armour Bilbo had already been given by Thorin earlier when the Doctor was still locked up. Mithril, he had said, nothing quite like it, there was.

“Farewell!” Bilbo called to the other dwarves, “We may meet again as friends!”

“Be off!” called Thorin. “You may have mail upon you, which was made by my fold and is too good for you. It cannot be pierced by arrows; but if you do not hasten, I will sting your miserable feet. So be swift!”

“Not so hasty!” said Bard. “We will give you until tomorrow. At noon we will return and see if you have brought from the hoard the portion that is to be set against the stone. If that is done without deceit, then we will depart and the elf-host will go back to the Forest. In the meanwhile, farewell!”

 

That day passed as did the night. The next day the wind shifted west and the air was dark and gloomy. The morning was still early when a cry was heard in the camp. Runners came in to report that a host of dwarves had appeared around the eastern spur of the Mountain and was now hastening to Dale. Dain had come. He had hurried on through the night, and so had come upon them sooner than they had expected. Each one of his folk was clad in a hauberk of steel mail that hung to his knees, and his legs were covered with hose of a fine and flexible metal mesh, the secret of whose making was possessed by Dain’s people.

The dwarves were exceedingly strong for their height, but most of these were strong even for dwarves. In battle they wielded heavy two-handed mattocks; but each of them had also a short broad sword at his side and a round shield slung at his back. Their beards were forked and plaited and thrust into their belts.

Their caps were of iron, they were shod with iron, and their faces were grim. Trumpets called men and elves to arms. Before long, the dwarves could be seen coming up the valley at a great pace. They halted between the river and the eastern spur; but a few held on their way, and crossing the river drew near the camp; and there they laid down their weapons and held up their hands in a sign of peace. Bard went to meet them, and with him went the Doctor.

“We are snt from Dain, son of Nain.” they said when Bard questioned them. “We are hastening to our kinsmen in the Mountain, since we learn that the kingdom of old is renewed. But who are you that sit in the plain as foes before defended walls?” This simply meant that the dwarves thought that the Bard and Doctor had no business here and therefore they would be going on their way or fight to do so. The Doctor knew that they intended to push on between the Mountain and the loop of the river, for the narrow land there did not seem to be strongly guarded.

The Doctor and Bard, of course, refused to allow the dwarves to go straight on the Mountain. They were determined to wait until the gold and silver had been brought out in exchange for the Arkenstone: for neither of them believed that this would be done if the fortress was manned with such a large and war-like company. They had brought with them a great store of supplies; for the dwarves can carry very heavy burdens, and nearly all of Dain’s folks, in spite of their rapid march, bore huge packs on their backs in addition to their weapons. They would stand a siege for weeks, and by that time, yet more dwarves might come, and yet more, for Thorin had many relatives. They would also be able to reopen and guard some other gate to that the besiegers would have to encircle the whole mountain; and for that they had not sufficient numbers.

Bard then sent messengers at once to the Gate, but they found no gold or payment. Arrows came forth as soon as they were within shot, and they hastened back in dismay. In the camp, they were all now astir, as if for battle, for the dwarves of Dain were advancing along the eastern bank.

“Fools!” laughed Bard, “to come thus beneath the Mountain’s arm! They do not understand war above ground, whatever they may know of battle in the mines. There are many of our archers and spearmen now hidden in the rocks upon their right flank. Dwarf-mail may be good, but they will soon be hard put to it. Let us set on them now from both sides before they are fully rested!”

But the Elvenking said: “Long will I tarry, ere I begin this war for gold. The dwarves cannot press us, unless we will, or do anything that we cannot mark. Let us hope still for something that will bring reconciliation. Our advantage in numbers will be enough, if in the end it must come to unhappy blows.”

But he reckoned without the dwarves. The knowledge that the Arkenstone was in the hands of the besiegers burned in their thoughts. They also guessed that the hesitation of Bard and his friends and resolved to strike while they debated.

Suddenly, without a signal, they sprang silently forward to attack. Bows twanged and arrows whistled; battle was about to be joined.

Still more suddenly, a darkness came on with dreadful swiftness. A black cloud hurried over the sky. Winter thunder on a wild wind rolled roaring up and rumbled in the Mountain, and lightning lit its peak. Beneath the thunder, another blackness could be seen whirling forwads, but it did not come with the wind, it came from the North, like a vast cloud of birds, so dense that no light could be seen between their wings.

“Halt!” Gandalf cried, he appeared suddenly and stood alone with arms uplifted between the advancing dwarves ad the ranks awaiting them. “Halt!” His voice was like thunder and his staff blazed forth with a flash like the lightning. “Dread has come upon you all! Alas! It has come more swiftly than I guessed. The Goblins are upon you! Bolg of the North is coming. Oh Dain! Whose father you slwe in Moria. Behold! The bats are above his army like a sea of locusts. They ride upon wolves and Wargs are in their train!”

Amazement and confusion fell upon them all. Even as Gandalf had been speaking, the darkness grew. The dwarves halted and gazed at the sky. The elves cried out with many voices.

“Come!” Called Gandalf. “There is yet time for council. Let Dain, son of Nain, come swiftly to us!”

So began a battle that none had expected. Upon one side were the Goblins and the wild Wolves, and upon the other were Elves, Men, Dwarves, and the Last Time Lord. This is how it fell out. Ever since the fall of the Great Goblin of the Misty Mountains, the hatred of their race for the dwarves had been rekindled to fury. Messengers had passed to and fro between all their cities, colonies, and strongholds, for they resolved now to win the dominion of the North. Tidings they had gathered in secret ways, and in all the mountains, there was forging and an arming. Then, they marched and gathered by hill and valley, going ever by tunnel or under dark, until around and beneath the great mountain, Gundabad of the North, where their capital was, a vast host was assembled, ready to sweep down in the time of storm unawares upon the South. They then learned of the death of Smaug, and joy was in their hearts, and they hastened night after night though the mountains. This is the plan that he made in the council with the Elvenking, Bard, and Dain, for the dwarf-lord now joined them, as the Goblins were the foes of all, and at their coming, all quarrels were forgotten. Their only hope was to lure the goblins into the valley between the arms of the Mountain, and themselves to main the great spurs that struck south and east. Yet this would be perilous, if the goblins were in sufficient numbers to overrun the Mountain itself, and so attack them also from behind and above, but there was no time to make any other plan or to summon any help.

Soon the thunder passed, rolling away to the South-East, but the bat cloud came, flying lower over the shoulder of the Mountain, and whirled above them, shutting out the light and filing them with dread.

“To the Mountain!” Called Bard. “To the Mountain! Let us take our places while there is yet time!”

On the Southern spur, in its lower slopes and in the rocks at its feet, the Elves were set. On the Eastern spur were the men and dwarves. But Bard and some of the nimblest of men and elves climbed to the height of the Eastern shoulder to gain a view of the North. Soon, they could see the lands before the Mountain’s feet, black with a hurrying multitude.Ere long the vanguard swirled around the spur’s end and came rushing into Dale. These were the swiftest wolf-riders and already their cries and howls rent the air afar. A few brave men were strung before them to make a feint of resistance, and many there fell before the rest drew back and fled to either side. As Gandalf had hoped, the goblin army had gathered behind the resisted vanguard and poured, now in rage, into the valley, driving wildly up between the arms of the Mountain, seeking for the foe. Their banners were countless, black and red, and they came on like a tide in fury and disorder.

It was a terrible battle. Not the worst in the Doctor’s history, he had fought in far worse.  _ Far  _ worse. But the Doctor hated war. 

Bilbo vanished early on in the battle, but the Doctor stayed and fought, like the good soldier he was. Like the good soldier he had to be.

The elves were the first to charge. Their hatred for the gobles was cold and bitter. Their spears and swords shone in the gloom with a gleam of chill flame, so deadly was the wrath of the hands that held them. As soon as the host of their enemies was dense in the valley, they sent against it a shower of arrows, and each flickered as it fled as if with stinging fire. Behind the arrows a thousand of their spearmen leapt down and charged. The yells were deafening. The rocks were stained black with goblin blood. Just as the goblins were recovering from the onslaught and the elf-charge was halted, there rose from across the valley a deep-throated roar. With cries of “Moria!” and “Dain, Dain!” the dwarves of the Iron Hills plunged in, wielding their mattocks, upon the other side, and beside them came the men of the Lake with long swords. Panic came upon the Goblins, and even as they turned to meet this new attack, the elves charged again with renewed numbers. Already, many of the goblins were flying back down, and Goblins had scaled the Mountain from the other side and already many were on the slopes above the gate, and others were streaming down recklessly, heedless of those that felt screaming from cliff and precipice, to attack the spurs from above. Each of these could be reached by paths that ran down from the main mass of the Mountain in the centre and the defenders had too few to bar the way for long. Victory now vanished from hope. They had only stemmed the first onslaught of the black tide. 

Dary drew on. The goblins gathered again in the valley. There a host of Wargs came ravening and with them came the bodyguard of Bolg, goblins of huge size with scimitars of steel. Soon, actually darkness was coming into a stormy sky whilst still the great bats swirled about the heads and ears of elves and men, or vastenened vampire-like on the stricken. Now Bard was fighting to defend the Eastern spur, and yet giving slowly back, and the elf-lords were at bay about their king upon the southern arm near the watch-post on Ravenhill.

Suddenly, there was a great shout, and from the gate came a trumpet call. They had forgotten Thorin. Part of the wall, moved by levers, fell outwards with a crash into the pool. Out leapt the King under the Mountain, and his companions followed him. Hood and cloak were gone; they were in shining armour, and red light leapt from their eyes. In the gloom the great dwarf gleamed like gold in a dying fire.

Rocks were buried down from on high by the goblins above, but they held on, leaping down to the falls’ foot and rushing forwards to battle. Wolf and rider fell or fled before them. Thorin wielded his axe with mighty strokes, and nothing seemed to harm him. 

“To me! To me! Elves and men! To me! Oh my kinsfolk!” He cried, and his voice shook like a horn in the valley.

Down, heedless of order, rushed all the dwarves of Dain to his help. Down too came many of the Lake-men, for Bard could not restrain them, and out upon the other side came many of the spearmen of the elves. Once again the goblins were stricken in the valley, and they were piled in heaps until Dale was dark and hideous with their corpses. The Wargs were scattered and Thorin drove right against the bodyguards of Bolg. But he could not pierce their ranks. Already, behind him, among the goblin dead lay many men and many dwarves, and many a fair elf that should have lived yet long ages merrily in the wood. As the valley widened, his onset grew ever slower. His numbers were too few. His flanks were unguarded. As soon as the attackers were attacked, and they were forced into a great ring, facing every way hemmed all about the goblins and wolves returning to the assault. The bodyguard of Bolg came howling against them, and drove in upon their ranks like waves upon cliffs and sand. Their friends could not help them. On all this, the Doctor looked with misery. He had taken his stand on Ravenhill amongst the elves.

Gandalf too was there, sitting on the ground as if in deep thought, preparing some last magic before the end. That did not seem far off. Please, let it not be far off.

The clouds were torn by the wind, and a red sunset slashed the West. Seeing the sudden gleam in the gloom, Bilbo looked around. He gave a great cry, he had seen a sight that made his heart leap, dark shapes small, yet majestic, against the distant glow.

“The Eagles!” The Doctor could hear Bilbo’s cry, “The Eagles are coming!”

Bilbo’s eyes did not deceive him, the Doctor could see the eagles coming down the wind, line after line, in such a host as must have gathered from all the eyries of the North.

“The Eagles! The Eagles!” Bilbo continued to cry. Even though no one could see him, the elves could hear Bilbo, and soon they too took up the cry, and it echoed across the valley. Many wondering eyes looked up, although as yet, nothing could be seen except from the southern shoulders of the Mountain.

“The Eagles!” Bilbo cried once more, but at that moment, a stone hurtled from above hit the place he was standing. The Doctor couldn’t see the hobbit, but watched the stone impact with his invisible form. The Doctor picked him up. He would keep the hobbit safe.


	17. The Return Journey

There were very few unharmed from the battle. The Doctor himself had numerous open wounds, but the Doctor knew they would heal on their own. Even Gandalf had his arm in a sling.

“Come,” Gandalf said, gravely entering the room in which the Doctor had finally managed to rouse Bilbo. “You are both called for.” And he led the Doctor and Bilbo within a tent.

“Hail! Thorin,” Gandalf said as they entered. “I have brought him.”

There indeed lay Thorin Oakenshield, wounded greatly. He looked to be in much pain.

“Farewell, good thief, good warrior.” Thorin said, “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from the both of you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the gate.”

“As I do mine.” The Doctor said, “May we both disregard things done in anger. You have made mistakes, as have we all, but you are a grand king and will be remembered for your greatness. I will be sure of that.”

Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. “Farewell, King under the Mountain!” he said. “This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet, I am glad that I have shared in your perils – that has been more than any Baggins deserves.”

“No!” said Thorin. “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell.”

The Doctor and Bilbo turned away and returned to their own tent.

“I am glad that we parted in kindness.” Bilbo said after a long silence.

The Doctor hummed in agreement.

“So, what did happen whilst I was out?” 

“Well, the Eagles had a suspicion of the goblins’, their movements in the mountains had not been subtle. Goblins are a noisy people.  So, the Eagles gathered under the great Eagle of the Misty Mountains, and, smelling battle from afar, they came speeding down the gale in the nick of time. They quickly freed the Lonely Mountain, and elves and men on either side of the valley could finally come to the help of the battle below.

“But, even with the Eagles, we were still outnumbered. In the last hour, Beorn arrived, alone and in bear shape. At this time, the dwarves had been standing around their lords upon a low rounded hill, then Beorn lifted Thorin, who had already fallen, and bore him from the fray. He then returned, his wrath redoubled, so that nothing could withstand him, and no weapon seemed to bite upon him. He scattered the bodyguard and pulled down Bolg himself, crushing him. 

“Once Bolg was no longer commanding them, the goblins hadn’t a clue what to do, and so fled.”

“Where are the Eagles now, then?”

“They all returned to their eyries. They don’t like to be around here, so close to the men.”

“I should have liked to see them again,” said Bilbo, “perhaps I shall see them on the way home. I suppose I shall be going home soon?”

“As soon as you’d like.” The Doctor said, smiling, “I won’t leave without you.”

 

They didn’t end up leaving for a few days, as first they had to bury Thorin. Thorin was buried deep beneath the Mountain, and Bard laid the Arkenstone upon his chest.

“There let it lie until the Mountain falls!” He said. “May it bring good fortune to all his folk that dwell here after!” Upon his tomb, the Elvenking then laid Orcrist, the elvish sword that had been taken from Thorin in captivity. It would gleam in the dark if foes approached, and therefore the fortress of the dwarves could not be taken by surprise. There now, Dain, son of Nain, took up his abode and became King under the Mountain, and in time many other dwarves gathered to his throne in the ancient halls. 

Of the twelve companions of Thorin, only ten remained. Fili and Kili had both fallen defending him with shield and body, for he was their mother’s elder brother. The others remained with Dain, for Dain dealt his treasure well.

There was, of course, no longer any question of dividing the hoard in such shares as had been planned, to Balin, Dwalin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, yet they were given one-fifteenth to share together, which was plenty, as it was much more than many kings and lords could ever dream of. They minded not, as they had their home again, and that was worth more than gold to them.

To the Elvenking, Dain gave the emeralds of Girion, such jewels as he most loved, and Bilbo and the Doctor he said: “This treasure is as much yours as it is mine, although old agreements cannot stand, since so many have a claim in its winning and defence. Yet even though you both were willing to lay aside your claim, I should wish that the words of Thorin, of which he repented, should not prove true; that we should give you little. I would reward you most richly of all.

“Very kind of you,” said Bilbo, “I cannot speak for the Doctor, but I think he will agree with me when I said it is a relief. How on earth should I have got all that treasure home without war and murder all along the way, I don’t know. And I don’t know what I should have done with it when I got home. I am sure it is better in your hands.”

In the end, Bilbo only chose to take two small chests, one filled with silver and the other with gold, such as one strong pony could carry. “That will be quite as much as I can manage.” Bilbo decided.

 

At last, the time came for Bilbo and the Doctor to leave. “Farewell Balin!” Bilbo cried, “and farewell Dwalin, and farewell Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur! May your beards never grown thin!” Turning towards the Mountain, he added: “Farewell Thorin Oakenshield! And Fili and Kili! May your memory never fade!”

The Doctor waved a silent farewell, and the dwarves bowed low before their gate, but the words stuck in their throats. “Farewell and good luck, wherever you fare!” said Balin at last. “If ever either of you visit us again, when our halls are made fair once more, than the feast shall indeed be splendid!”

“If ever you are passing my way,” said Bilbo, “Don’t wait to knock! Tea is at four, but any of you are welcome at any time!”

“See you around!” The Doctor grinned. 

Then, they turned away.

The elf-host was on the march, and if it was sadly lessened, yet many were glad, for now the northern world would be merrier, at least for a while. The dragon was dead, the goblins overthrown, and their hearts looked forwards after winter to a spring of joy.

The Doctor, Bilbo, and Gandalf rode behind the Elvenking, and beside them strode Beorn, once again in man’s shape, and he laughed and sang in a loud voice upon the road. So they went on until they drew near to the borders of Mirkwood, to the north of the place where the Forest River ran out. They then halted, for Gandalf, Bilbo, and the Doctor chose not to enter the wood, even though the king bade them stay a while in his halls. They intended to go along the edge of the forest, and around its northern end in the waste that lay between it and the beginning of the Grey Mountains. It was a long and cheerless road, but now that the goblins were gone, it was safer to them than the pathways under the trees. Moreover, Beorn was going that way too.

“Farewell! Oh Elvenking!” said Gandalf. “Merry be the greenwood, whist the world is yet young! And merry be all your folk!”

“Farewell! Oh Gandalf!” said the king. “May you ever appear where you are most needed and least expected. The oftener you appear in my halls the better, shall I be pleased!”

“I beg of you,” said Bilbo suddenly, stammering and standing on one foot, “to accept this gift!” and he brought forth a necklace of silver and pearls that Dain had given him at their parting.

“In what way have I earned such a gift, oh hobbit?” said the king.

“Well – er – I thought, don’t you know,” said Bilbo rather confused, “that – er – some little return should be made for your – er – hospitality. I mean, even a burglar has feelings. I have drunk much of your wine and eaten much of your bread.”

“I will take your gift, oh Bilbo the Magnificent!” said the king gravely. “And I name you elf-friend and blessed. May your shadow never grow less! Farewell!”

Then the elves turned towards the Forest and Bilbo, Gandalf, and the Doctor started the long road to the Shire.

 

They had many hardships and adventures before the Doctor, Bilbo, Beorn, and the ever-disappearing Gandalf returned to the Shire. The Wild was still the Wild, and there were many other things in it in those days besides goblins, but they were well-guided and well-guarded.

By mid-winter, the four of them had finally made it back to the edges of the Forest, to the doors of Beorn’s house, and there for a while they stayed. Yule-tide was warm and merry there, and men came from far and wide to feast at Beorn’s bidding. The goblins of the Misty Mountains were now few, terrified, and hidden in the deepest holes that could be found, and the Wargs had vanished from the woods, so that men went abroad without fear. 

But soon, the Doctor, Bilbo and Gandalf were on their way again. They were almost home.


	18. The Last Stage

It was on May the first that the Doctor, Bilbo, and Gandalf came back at last to the brink of the valley of Rivendell, where still the last (or in their case, first) Homely House. It was evening, and their ponies were tired, and as they rode down the steep path, the Doctor could hear the elves still singing in the trees, as if they had not stopped since they left, and as soon as their riders came down into the lower glades of the wood, they burst into a song of much the same kind as before:

 

_ The dragon is withered, _

_ His bones are now crumbled; _

_ His armour is shivered, _

_ His splendour is humbled! _

_ Though sword shall be rusted, _

_ And throne and crown perish _

_ With strength that men trusted _

_ And wealth that they cherish, _

_ Here grass is still growing, _

_ And leaves are yet swinging, _

_ The white water flowing, _

_ And elves are yet singing _

_ Come! Tra-la-la-lally! _

_ Come back to the valley! _

_ The stars are far brighter _

_ Than gems without measure, _

_ The moon is far whiter _

_ Than silver in treasure: _

_ The fire is more shining _

_ On hearth in the gloaming _

_ Than gold won by mining, _

_ So why go a-roaming? _

_ Oh! Tra-la-la-lally _

_ Come back to the valley. _

_ Oh! Where are you going, _

_ So late in returning? _

_ The river is flowing, _

_ The stars are all burning! _

_ Oh! Whither so laden, _

_ So sad and so dreary? _

_ Here elf and elf-maiden _

_ Now welcome the weary _

_ With Tra-la-la-lally _

_ Come back to the valley, _

_ Tra-la-la-lally _

_ Fa-la-la-lally _

_ Fa-la! _

 

Then, the elves of the valley came out and greeted them and led them across the water to the house of Elrond. There, a warm welcome was made them, and there were many eager ears that evening to hear the tale of their adventures. Gandalf was the one who spoke, for Bilbo had fallen quiet and drowsy, and the Doctor was interested to hear which parts Gandalf would choose to tell.

But the Doctor did learn things he had not yet known. It appeared that Gandalf had been to a great council of the white wizards, masters of lore and good magic in his time away from the party of dwarves, hobbit, and Time Lord, and that they had at last driven the Necromancer from his dark hold in the south of Mirkwood.

“Ere long now,” Gandalf was saying, “The Forest will grow somewhat more wholesome. The North will be freed from that horror of many long years, I hope. Yet, I wish he were banished from the world!”

“It would be well indeed,” said Elrond, “but I fear that will not come about in this age of the world, or for many after.”

When the tale of their journey was old, there were other tales, and yet more tales, of new things, of old things, until Bilbo had long fallen asleep.

The Doctor sat in a room, gazing out the window. He had slept not for ma long time. Below him, many elves were singing loud and clear on the banks of the stream:

 

_ Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together? _

_ The wind’s in the free-top, the wind’s in the heather; _

_ The stars are in blossom, the moon is a flower, _

_ And bright are the windows of the night in her tower. _

_ Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together! _

_ Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather! _

_ The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting; _

_ Merry is May-time, and merry is our meeting. _

_ Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave them! _

_ Wind them slumber and there let us leave them! _

_ The wanderers sleepith. Now soft be their pillows! _

_ Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow! _

_ Sigh no more, Pine, ‘till the wind of the morn! _

_ Fall moon! Dark be the land! _

_ Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn! _

_ Hushed be all water ‘till dawn is at hand! _

 

The Doctor smiled. He loved elves.

 

When the Doctor, Bilbo, and Gandalf set off, Elrond gave them such small gifts as they would accept, and they rode away. Even as thy left the valley, the sky darkened in the west before them, and wind and rain came up to meet them.

“Merry is May-time!” said Bilbo, as the rain beat into his face, “But our back is to legends and we are coming home. I suppose this is a first taste of it.”

“There is a long road yet,” said Gandalf.

“But it is the last road,” said Bilbo. They came to the river that marked the very edge of the borderland of the Wild, and to the ford beneath the steep bank. The water was swollen both with the melting of the snow at the approach of summer, and with the daylong rain, but they did cross, even if it was with some difficulty. 

They pressed forwards as evening fell, they were on the last stage of their journey. This was much as it had been before, except that the company was smaller and more silent, and this time there were no trolls. At each point on the road, the Doctor and Bilbo would recall the happenings and the words of a year-ago (it seemed like longer, as the Doctor never did like to stay in one place too long) to each other. 

Not far from the road, they found the gold of the trolls, which they had buried, still hidden and untouched. “I have enough to last me my time,” said Bilbo when they had dug it up, “You had better take it, Doctor.”

“I haven’t a need for gold.”

“Please, take it,” Bilbo insisted, “Perhaps you may find yourself in an unexpected position.”

The Doctor considered this a moment.

“If you insist.”

“That, I do.”

So they put the gold in bags and slung them on the ponies. After that, their going was slower, and for most of the time they walked. But the land was green and there was much grass through which the Doctor watched the hobbit stroll along contentedly. 

It was June now, and summer was upon them. As all things come to an end, a day came at last when they were in sight of the country where Bilbo had been born and bred. Coming to a rise, Bilbo pointed out his own hill in the distance. He suddenly stopped, staring as if he couldn’t really believe it.

“You’re not the hobbit who left the Shire,” The Doctor smiled, “You have become more than you could have ever expected, but now you are home. How does it feel?”

“Good.” Bilbo smiled faintly, “It has been a most wonderful adventure, but I am happy to be home.”

And so they crossed the bridge and passed the mill by the river and came right back to Bilbo’s own door. “Bless me! What’s going on?” Bilbo cried. There was a great commotion, and people of all sorts, were thick around the door, and many were going in and out.

If Bilbo looked surprised, they were more surprised still. He had arrived back in the middle of an auction. There was a large notice in black and red hung on the gate, stating that on June the twenty-second, Messrs, Grubb, and Bun-owes would sell by auction the effects of the late Bilbo Baggins Esquire of Bag-End, Underhill, Hobbiton. Sale to commence at ten o’clock sharp. It was now nearly lunch-time, and most of the things had already been sold.

“It seems you have been presumed dead.” The Doctor said. 

Bilbo sighed, and bitterly said, “It appears so.”

 

The return of Bilbo Baggins created quite a disturbance. The Doctor stayed a while in order to help convince others that Bilbo was indeed alive and to help track down and purchase back many of Bilbo’s own belongings.

Indeed, Bilbo did seem somewhat sorrowful for the loss of his reputation. It was true that forever he remained an elf-friend, and had the honour of dwarves, wizards, Time Lords, and all such folk as ever passed that way, but he was no longer quite respectable in the eyes of the hobbits. He was, in fact, held by all the hobbits of the neighbourhood to be much too adventurous – except by his nephews and nieces on the Took side of his family, who were much more excited about Bilbo’s adventure.

It was only a few days later that the Doctor bid Bilbo farewell.

“Please do visit, Doctor.” Bilbo said as the Doctor stood outside his TARDIS, “You are always welcome in my home.”

“I might just do that.” The Doctor smiled. “Still don’t want to go on another adventure?”

“No, no.” Bilbo smiled, “I think the one was enough for me.”

“Right, course.” The Doctor said, “Well, I’ll see you around, then.”

“Doctor, please do visit for tea sometime.”

“Will do.” The Doctor said, a smile sliding onto his face, “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I should hope not.”

“Farewell, Bilbo.”

“Farewell, Doctor.”

The Doctor stepped into his TARDIS. She hummed affectionately as he entered. “Yeah, I missed you too.” The Doctor stroked the console. He’d visit the hobbit again, maybe if he was lucky another adventure would arise. He sighed, “Yeah, right, what are the chances of that?”


End file.
